


Their Journey Begins

by spn_j2fan



Series: Journey 'verse [4]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bonding, F/M, M/M, Mild D/s, Rape/Non-con Elements, Space Opera, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 102,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spn_j2fan/pseuds/spn_j2fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of communication with their planet, and convinced that there are nefarious plans underway to supplant the destined ruler of Fayar, it is an all out race, and possibly a war, to see if those plans can be ruined. It will take the powers of both worlds to make this work, and possibly the greatest bond that the worlds have ever seen...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: As I mentioned in [Acclimation: Jensen's Journey](http://archiveofourown.org/works/890315), there is no actual non-con in this part of the 'verse, but because the story relies heavily on that theme, I will continue to use the warning.
> 
> A/N 2: This is the fourth story in the the [Journey 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/51149) and really won't make much sense without reading the preceding stories.
> 
> A/N 3: I haven't added all of the characters yet. There are so many, most are CW/SPN, but there are also some OCs. I will add them, and warnings, as I go along.
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments along the way, I hope you will continue to let me know what you think. :)

  
“I cannot believe how quickly they agreed to maintain your supply levels in my absence,” Benedict commented, watching as reserves and armaments from both the Command vessel and the frigate were transferred to his own destroyer. It would be a quick move, the vessel needed to travel light if it wanted to travel quickly. The emphasis would be on garnering sufficient supplies to sustain the crew, and enough weaponry to prevent attack—just enough to get to Freyrusia, and no farther.

“It is in their interest as well,” Roché explained. “Without us, they are more subject to attack than they were in the days prior to King Julian’s arrival. They had science on their side then, but now, we are all that stands between them and invasion. Enslavement or annihilation would then be their only options.”

Benedict watched as the young Pershebian exited the shuttle and began to study his new surroundings. “So then why accept their terms? Why agree to take the Pershebian with us?”

Roché grinned.  “What makes you think the terms were theirs, Commander? I promise you, he is not your typical Pershebian. He has shown great talent as a fighter, so they say. And he has an unfailing desire to protect the Chosen. That may prove to be a great asset. Take him with you and train him.”

“I haven’t the time--”

“Nonsense!” The Marshal interrupted, “Even as fast as your ship is, it will take you nearly half an annum to reach Freyrusia. I think that plenty of time to take on a single student.”

“Why him?” Benedict asked. “Why should I?”

“I am not asking you, Commander,” Roché explained, solemn faced. “So if it makes it easier for you, consider this an order. Train him to fight.  Make him proficient with our weapons.  Speak little Pershebian to him, I believe he will learn our language quickly.”

Benedict looked at him skeptically, “And why would that be?”

“Consider it an educated guess,” Roché said, patting the other man on the back. “Finish up now, you need to depart soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Benedict stood at attention, saluted even, but his frown did not fade.

 

________________________

  


  
Jared growled, part in frustration and part in concern. It was the third evening in a row that he had returned to their quarters to find his mate sprawled across their bed on his belly, lost to sleep. And now he knew why. He had discovered the reason Jensen had given up on weapons training with him three days earlier, Misha had revealed the information earlier in the day, and Jared had wanted to talk to Jensen about it. Now, it looked like that discussion would have to wait.  
  
He carefully slipped the book of Fayarian language—the second Jensen had already worked through—from beneath Jensen’s splayed fingers and placed it on the bedside table, taking a moment to glance at the drawer again—it remained tightly closed, just as Jared had left it. And then he removed the other texts that were scattered across the surface of the bed. Some were Pershebian, some were from Fayar, but they all spelled out his mate’s dedication; and it was difficult for Jared to find fault in him for that, except there seemed to be no room left in Jensen’s days for the prince himself.  
  
Jared walked to the bath and completed his evening routine while thinking over the past two weeks. Certainly, Jensen was spreading himself thin, too thin as far as the prince was concerned. Between learning the language, managing his plants and the elixir, working with the team of scientists to extract Nabbotium from the ship, trying to read enough to make sure that they did indeed have the appropriate delivery mechanism, and physical training with Jared, Jensen seemed to have lost track of even the simplest of concepts, like night and day. If not for Jared and Misha, the prince was not convinced that Jensen would take the time to eat. Before weapons training at midday, Jared made sure Jensen ate a meal, even if he ate it as they walked down the corridor. And Misha assured the prince that he did the same in the agritory before departing each evening.  
  
The prince and the agrician had taken to talking more and more often. It seemed the more time Misha spent with Jensen, the deeper his understanding of what drove the Chosen became. Misha had no better explanation for it than Jared did, but they both recognized the connection and how it was growing in strength over time, even to the point that Misha believed he might one day understand Jensen so well as to know what was in his mind and how he would respond before he actually did it. And the more time Jared spent with Misha, the easier it was for the prince to appreciate that bond and learn from it.  
  
It was difficult to feel the responsibility of many worlds' safety upon oneself, especially in such difficult times, Jared tried to remind himself.  As a royal, the prince had spent his entire lifetime preparing for it. But the onus had been thrust upon Jensen in a mere a matter of weeks. Again, it had taken a conversation with the young agrician to remind the prince of that fact.  
  
Earlier that day Jared had spent another hour with Misha.  He had gone to the lab in search of his mate, hoping to surprise him and spend some stolen moments together, only to realize that Jensen was no where in sight.  
  
“Where is Jensen?” He had asked the young agrician, walking around the center table to see if Jensen was hidden behind it for some reason.  
  
Misha looked up from his position before the glass enclosure. His hands were deep in the neoprene gloves, where Jensen’s usually were, and he was cautiously stirring the mixture with a glass rod. Raising a quizzical brow, Misha intoned, “He is with the general, My Lord. As he has been at this hour for each of the last three days.”  
  
Misha slowly lowered the stick within the enclosure and pulled his hands free of the gloves.  
  
“Why? Where?” Jared asked. He was not at his most eloquent. He was ready to run from the room as soon as he heard the answers. He should have known something was wrong when the guardsmen were not standing outside the door, but he had assumed the men had followed Jensen inside to witness his progress.  Assumed wrongly, Jared now realized.  
  
“He wants to learn to fight. To defend himself.” Misha shrugged, oblivious to the meanderings of Jared's thoughts.  
  
“I was teaching him!” Jared roared.  
  
“Were you, My Lord?” The question, and appropriate honorific, hardly masked the accusation in the agirician’s tone. “Tell me, during your lessons, does he ever win?”  
  
“Of course! He has won many times,” Jared growled.

  
“So you are saying that a twenty-year-old boy who had never felt the weight of a Disc in his hand before a few weeks ago can defeat the Heir of Fayar  _many times_? He must indeed be a fierce combatant.” This time Misha did nothing to hide the derision in his tone. “He was not looking to play games with you.  He trusted you to teach him to defend himself, and you let him down.”  
  
Jared dropped his gaze for a moment. “Everyone must win some of the time, to keep their confidence up,” he mumbled.  
  
“Did the general let you win?” Misha asked.  
  
“That was different,” Jared countered. “He was preparing me to fight for my people.”  
  
“And so now you know why Jensen went to the general. I suppose you also know where he is now, as well.” Misha started to walk away. “He respects you, My Lord. He would like to have your respect in return.”  
  
  
Jared moved toward their bed with a cloth in hand, knowing it was unlikely that his mate had taken the time to care for himself before succumbing to exhaustion. Slowly, gently, he tugged the sleeves off each of Jensen’s arms and then pulled the tunic over his head. When Jensen plopped back down on the bed like a ragdoll, Jared tenderly ran the moistened towel over his mate’s fingers, his hands, up his arms and across his shoulders. Purposely, he had avoided using the titillating Illearian cloths, all he wanted to do was offer what his mate needed right now: cleanliness and comfort. He was not making an outright overture or even the slightest attempt at seduction.  
  
“Jared,” Jensen moaned, his head turning toward the prince.  
  
“Shhh,” Jared reassured him. “I am here. I did not intend to wake you. Sleep my love.” Jared dropped the cloth next to the bed and moved quickly to wrap his mate in his arms, pulling Jensen's back snug against his chest. “You are all that I could ask for,” he offered in reassurance to his mate.  
  
“Please!” Jensen squirmed against him, turning his head feverishly.  
  
“Jensen?” The prince questioned. “Are you ill?” Jared loosened his grip for fear of what might happen if he did not, Jensen was struggling against him so.  
  
The younger man turned immediately, his body coming flush against the prince’s. “Jared,” Jensen whimpered against his lips.  
  
And then Jared felt it, his mate’s rock-hard arousal grinding against him. His own cock responded immediately. It was all Jared could do to push the younger man onto his back. “Jensen, you are exhausted,” he scolded.  He winced at his own words, knowing they were harsh, but unable to temper them in his current state.  
  
“Please,” Jensen moaned, lifting his head, seeking the prince’s lips. His eyes remained half-closed.  
  
Jared surged forward and captured those alluring lips. It was an easy request to fulfill. He licked and sucked, caressed and tasted, before delving deeper. When he leaned back to view his mate, Jensen was panting, his hips making shallow forward thrusts into the air.  
  
Again, Jensen tried to follow him up. “Lay back, my love,” Jared murmured, leaning into the temptation Jensen's lips offered one more time. “I do not know what has aroused you so, but you are overly tired, and I do not want to take advantage of you in such a state. Let me try to take care of you.” He put a hand on Jensen’s chest and pushed him gently back to the bed. With the other, he began to lower his mate’s pants. Meeting Jensen's half-mast gaze, Jared continued, “Will you trust me to take care of you?”  
  
Jensen reached a hand up to the prince’s bicep, and at first Jared thought it was meant as a gesture to curtail his efforts, but the Pershebian’s mumbled words soon followed, “Trust you.”  
  
Jared turned his head and kissed his mate’s hand, continuing his efforts and ridding Jensen of his clothing as he did so. “It will be worth it,” he promised. He crawled lower, dropping soft kisses along his mate’s body as he went. “Spread your legs,” he whispered, nuzzling in encouragement against the juncture where Jensen’s thigh met his groin. He smiled when Jensen eagerly obeyed.  
  
Jared sprinkled soft kisses along his mates shaft, but it was already red and throbbing, leaking heavily, and Jared had no intention of ending this too soon, so he moved his mouth lower. He laved his attention upon those two glorious globes that lay below, basking in every moan and every whispered, “ _Jared_ ,” that escaped from between his mate’s lips.  
  
Soon Jensen’s sleepy fingers reached down to run through Jared’s hair and caress his head, almost as if he was trying to guide him back toward his cock. Jared hummed, content with the world for the moment. He lifted Jensen’s leg, revealing what the prince had only actually seen on that first, horrible night. The memory made him shudder.  
  
Jared let his tongue trace a line along the tender flesh beyond Jensen’s sac, eliciting more moans, and a few more tugs on his hair. And then the prince took a deep breath, and caught a scent of what could only be Jensen—what he had been missing all these weeks. He moaned himself this time. Nudging lower, he allowed his tongue the slightest flicker over that glorious offering.  
  
Jensen stiffened immediately, and his fingers grabbed hold of the prince’s hair, not allowing him any movement without pain. “Jared?” He questioned hesitantly. Much more awake than he had been minutes earlier.  
  
Jared moaned again, allowing Jensen free rein to move his head where he felt most comfortable to place it. “Trust me, my love. Lay back and let my mouth make you feel good. It will only be my mouth, I promise you that.” His head moved higher with Jensen’s grip. His eyes met his mate’s and he licked his lips. “You are tired, and I only want to taste you, to make you feel good. Trust me, please.” He begged.  
  
Jensen took a deep breath, followed by a long exhale.  His grip on Jared's hair loosened, and his hands dropped onto the sheets. It was as if he had given up all fear, all concern, just this once, and Jared was not about to abuse it. He leaned back down to his task, but first, he reached for one of his mate’s hands and placed it back on his head. “If I go too far, or if I frighten you, pull me away.”  
  
Once Jensen offered a faint nod of understanding, Jared resumed his task. He started at the beginning; showering light kisses over Jensen’s inner thighs, his hips, his sac. Jared carefully avoided his mate's shaft--throbbing as it was, it might shoot off at any moment.  
  
He moved millimeters lower, again nudging Jensen’s legs wider, higher. This time there was no resistance, at least none that Jared could detect. He flicked his tongue against that soft, pink pucker. It was so small, so tight.  _Gods!_  How had he ever gotten in there? He closed his eyes and willed away the memory, hoping to one day replace it with many happier ones for Jensen.  
  
Slowly, he tongued around the tight opening, and he felt Jensen’s hips begin to move in response. Jared pulled away just a bit, to see if they would follow, and he grinned when they did. He flattened his tongue and lapped across the opening, pressing down firmly at the same time.  
  
Jensen responded wildly, bucking up and gripping his hair.  
  
“Do you want me to stop?” Jared asked immediately.  
  
Jensen moaned heavily, his head shaking from side to side. Both feet were planted solidly on the mattress now, and his hips were rising, seeking more.  
  
Jared laughed, grabbing the younger man’s hips and holding him down. “You are supposed to be relaxing,” he scolded half-heartedly, before continuing his mission.  
  
Twice more he pushed his tongue down heavily against Jensen’s entrance before circling it with the tip again, and then he flicked the sharp point tantalizingly into it. Jensen was a moaning, writhing mess now, and Jared was not certain he would have any hair remaining when he finished his task. He was so heated himself, though, that he found himself humping the mattress seeking relief—sure that it would come at any moment.  
  
Suddenly, he pushed Jensen’s hips deep into the mattress to still them, and delved his tongue as deep into that glorious channel as he could manage. He struggled for more, wanting to give everything to his mate, to taste all of his mate, to hear his mate scream in pleasure.  
  
“J-Jared!” Jensen groaned, “ _My_  prince!” Suddenly there was no holding him down. His hips raised toward Jared’s mouth, seeking more, as his load shot out, streaks of come mixing with the sweat on his belly. Jared held his hips steadily in the air until he finished; the heady scent, the emotion, and his mate’s verbal claim on him were enough to take Jared over the edge. He panted out his own release, not at all ashamed to have come in such a way.  
  
Gently, Jared lowered his mate back to the bed, and kissed up the length of his torso. Jensen met his lips—his kisses soft with satiation and exhaustion. “Go to sleep, my love,” Jared whispered, grabbing the cloth, and once again wiping down his mate.  
  
He dropped the cloth to the floor again and reached to turn off the bedside light. The title of one of the books on the table caught his attention:  _Can There Be A Perfect Royal Pair: Only When Worlds Threaten to Collide._

 

___________________________

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I just moved the kids back to college. :( 
> 
> I am creating a glossary of terms. Someone asked me to do so on lj ages ago, and as I edit this, I've started to do so. Would you like me to post it?
> 
> I would really appreciate your comments. It lets me know you are enjoying! ♥

Jensen stretched and rose slowly, even though he had been awake for a while already.  At least long enough for the warm body behind him to rise and depart for the bath. But he waited until he heard the sound of running water to actually make his move.

He was calmer and more relaxed this morn than he had been for some time, and even managed to grin as he headed for his closet. His legs were weak though, and for a moment, he was not certain they would bear his weight. Puzzled at first, he struggled to recreate the previous afternoon and evening’s events: agritory and laboratory duties, a forced meal with Misha, weapons training with the general followed by the obligatory lesson in Fayarian politics and history—without which the general would not have consented to the training sessions, an evening of study, dozing, and…oh, yes, the prince.

Jensen opened his closet door and stared at all the selections. Each morning for the past two _septamas_ , he had a choice to make. And after weeks without options, staring at a closetful of clothing was not as pleasant as he had expected it to be. He pulled out a black outfit with just a splash of green without any real thought behind his selection. Most days he chose something more in harmony with the prince’s royal colors for no particular reason, but this one just seemed to suit the day.

He dropped the outfit on the bed, reached to the nightstand and picked up the ancient Pershebian text on beta emitters, beginning to read over it again even as he headed back to the closet to find footwear.

His mind immediately returned to the first conference he had been involved in two weeks ago. He had learned a lot more Fayarian since then, and never again would he be so dependent on another for translation. Even more importantly, never again would he give them such an opportunity to doubt his knowledge or his ability. Even if it was only a small group of the elite officers aboard the Royal Vessel who would ever know he had contributed at all.

That day he’d barely had time to scrape together any of the information he would need to make his case before Jared ushered him into a room he called “The Center.” As pleased as Jared had seemed to be with him, the prince had not prepared his mate properly for the barrage of questions that he would face, and Jensen was left to stare questioningly from one accusing face to the next around the long, oval table, as Jared carefully translated each heated question.

There were but three familiar faces in the room, and only two of those were friendly. Jensen knew the general, and Jared, of course. And then there was the major who had so resented his presence on the Command Deck earlier: Major Parrack. Jensen remembered his name clearly. All the others were unfamiliar even though Jared had taken the time to formally introduce each one.

It had been so difficult to explain. How could one tell a musician that music did not really exist? Well, that was basically what Jensen was attempting to do—in a language he did not fully comprehend. He was trying to tell them that their barrier was not really there—not if they did not want it to be—and he'd had less time to prepare for that initial inquisition than he’d ever had for the simplest of quizzes at Academy.

And everything he knew was based on what he had learned as he sat and listened to the sounds of his own planet, making small changes, taking notes and observing reactions. How could he explain that to strangers based on an hour’s preparation and minimal shared language?

It turned out to be an exercise in failure that he did not care to repeat, so by the time they met again, two days later, he was better prepared, even if his language skills remained deficient.

In that second meeting, he did a fair job explaining that the Radon Bands—as the Fayarians called them—were more of a fluid field of energy than a solid barrier. He tried to describe the particles he had called "releasers" when he was tossing small objects toward those hazy impediments back home without explaining how he had discovered them. He did not think they would appreciate his rudimentary research techniques. So instead, he had spent those two intervening days in the library, searching for books to corroborate any part of his theory, and found the one he was skimming through again today.

“Beta emitters” he had told them that day. It was an active field of energy filled with beta particles just waiting to react with the right element.

Back on Pershebe, he had discovered some of those very same white-noise producing barriers quite accidentally. It was one of those days after a long week at Academy, when Jensen wandered out on his own, seeking solitude, and looking to see what he might find. He ventured all the way to the steaming holes, which was expressly forbidden, for they were far from the entrances to the underground caverns. Well, safe entrances at least. But the sound he heard when he circled around to the other side caught his attention, and he simply could not resist the allure of his new discovery.

The fascination escalated a few weeks later when he returned home after one particular trek to the “Noisy White Barrier” as he had named it—for along with the noise, a sheen of white rising from the steam holes seemed to create some type of illusionary barrier—only to discover that he had missed a drill entirely!

He had blustered his way through the occurrence, pretending to have fallen asleep by the noisy river edge, and accepted his punishment for his failure to answer to the drill. But that did nothing to stifle his curiosity. After that though, he only went back on days immediately following a drill. Days he knew there would not be another.

So he did what he could with that barrier. He touched it, but his skin passed through without obvious change. It did not actually seem to be steam, because there was no heat coming from it. He tossed items through it, soil first, then parts of plants--long blades of grass and leaves at first, then twigs and entire bushes later on.  Finally, he threw rocks and other such items that he could gather from the riverbank or dig from the walls of the caverns during drills. And that was when he’d discovered it: that dull metal that felt warm to his touch even in the cool underground world. He had dug a few flecks of it out with his fingers, and pocketed them with a grin, wondering if this experiment would be different. He suspected not, but he would not know if he did not try.

When he could get away from Academy again, he returned to his Noisy White Barrier, and tossed one of the dull, warm flecks directly toward the center. Before the tiny particle even reached what seemed to be the barrier, it was as if hazy white tendrils reached out and grabbed the dull metal, and suddenly the fleck spread out and joined the barrier, creating something new right in the middle. He was not sure what to think of it at first. It looked different, clearer, but still not quite absent. It was circular in form, but had jagged edges, and as he watched, those jagged edges slowly began to knit back together again.

The next day he dragged Christian along with him. Chris was the only person he could trust to keep his secret. He ran toward the steaming holes, explaining his plan the entire way, and once they arrived, he hurried to one side and yelled out Christian’s name. When no response came, he rushed around and asked his friend if he had heard Jensen call out. At Christian’s frown, Jensen headed back to his side again, pulled two of the flakes out of his pocket, and tossed them into the barrier. Just like the day before, a reaction began, only this time, the clearer field was larger, and the opening remained in place for a longer period of time. Jensen peered through. “Can you hear me now?” He asked, staring directly at his friend.

Christian stared back, wide-eyed, managing nothing more than a tiny nod of his head as the hole slowly knitted closed.

Jensen took his remaining flecks to Academy when he returned, opened what books he could find on naturally occurring elements, and that is how he had come to discover Nabottium. A metal, that while soft, is still quite durable, and tends to make excellent alloys when combined with other metals. It is dull, and unlike most other naturally occurring metals, it is warm to the touch.

After several more meetings, the group began to grudgingly accept his explanations, and smaller details were being discussed, new assignments made. It was nice to have some of the direct pressure off of him, but Jensen still felt an incredible amount of responsibility. It was as if his whole life he had been preparing for this.

As Jensen set the book back down on the table and began to slip into the dark slacks, he remembered his mother’s familiar words, words he had heard before nearly every drill. Words about how his dreams and ambitions would be for naught if he were lost to the Taking. And now that he understood more about how deeply entwined Pershebe’s fate was with that of Fayar, he knew that his mother’s notions were all wrong, even if she meant well. All his studies, all his efforts, everything he had worked for was for this: for the perpetuation of his world. And the payment was simple. They asked nothing more than what he could give—himself. It seemed a fair trade.

Suddenly, arms encircled him from behind before he could put a second leg into the fabric, and Jared pulled Jensen up to nuzzle at his neck. “What a beautiful picture you make,” Jared whispered into his ear, “Why cover it up with those pants?”

Jensen gasped, and stumbled back into the prince’s grip. Lost as he was in his musings, he had missed the older man approach. “Jared,” he scolded, pushing the prince's head away gently with his own. “We have a meeting to attend soon, do we not?”

“It can wait a short time. I suspect they will not begin without us. I wish to speak with you first this morn,” Jared replied, keeping his arms firmly about his mate.

Thinking that Jared had in mind the topic of today’s meeting, Jensen began to rehash the previous one. “So, you are certain that Delthestica is best?” He repeated the name of the planet the way he had heard Jared say it in the conference the day before. It was not a completely unfamiliar term to him, General Beaver had mentioned it briefly in their lessons, but Jensen knew nothing of it other than the name.

“Yes,” Jared assured him, “They are a valuable ally...That’s right! I promised to tell you more didn’t I?” He loosened his grip slightly, and allowed Jensen to turn around.

Jensen nodded as he remembered having to listen to most of the debate the day before without offering any input of his own. Even with what he had already learned from the general, he still knew relatively little about politics within the realm of Fayar.

“I thought you would choose to contact Fayar?” Jensen had whispered close to the prince’s ear, not wanting to seem disrespectful to the heir or the other members gathered in the Center

“I will tell you more later,” the prince had whispered in return, “But be assured that Delthestica is our best choice.”

“Should we not contact Fayar?” Major Parrack had stood just at that moment, and addressed the group. Jensen moved farther back against Jared, and simply listened.

“It would be too dangerous at this point,” the general spoke up, “We do not know where on Fayar our enemies lie. And we do not want to reveal ourselves needlessly. Delthestica is a proven ally…”

Much more had been said, but now Jensen sat down on the bed, peering up at the prince, and waiting for him to fill in the gaps like he had promised.

Jared took a deep breath, staring at his mate and deciding where to begin. This was not the conversation he had planned for the morn, but they would have time for that when he finished. “Did you understand the general’s explanation as to why it would be folly to contact Fayar directly at this time?” He asked forthrightly. He had no intention of speaking down to Jensen.

“I believe so, yes,” Jensen nodded.

“And did you understand that it is most likely that we will stop on this side of the Radon Bands to regroup and gather strength if we are able to make contact the way you have suggested to be possible?” Jared paused only long enough for Jensen to nod before he continued. “Then I believe all you are missing is the importance of Delthestica, is that right?”

“That seems to be the main question I have.” Jensen hesitated. He was certain it was not _all_ that he was missing.

“Delthestica is one of the planets closest to the Radon Bands. It is the closest inhabited planet. The premier, Sterling Brown, is a strong leader and a man of conviction. He has long supported the realm, his entire family is currently in its service, and I consider him a great ally. A message given to him can easily be carried both to Fayar and back to meet us on the other side of the Bands.”

Jared began to pace as he spoke. “I have told you of my cousin Alona, I know, but I do not believe that I told you of her husband Aldis. Aldis is a great man and someone I consider a friend and trustworthy ally. He also happens to be Premier Brown’s son. So a threat to the Heir of Fayar is also quite likely a threat to the premier’s son. What greater motivation can there be?”

“So it would seem that Delthestica truly is the best first contact,” Jensen agreed, already slipping off the bed and once more beginning to dress.

“It would,” the prince agreed, again stepping up behind his mate, “But that is not what I wanted to discuss with you this morn. I believe we have another matter to attend to.” Once again, he wrapped his arms around Jensen.

This time the grip felt more like a trap, not allowing Jensen the ability to move around at all. “Oh? What matter would that be, My Lord?” He responded formally.

“The matter of you deceiving me,” Jared’s voice grew low and ominous. “The matter of my mate deliberately going behind my back and seeking the assistance of a member of my army without my knowledge. What should I make of that, Jensen?”

Jared’s grasp grew tighter, and Jensen struggled to get him to loosen it. “If you continue as you are doing,” he panted, “You will not have a mate to question so harshly.”

The prince loosened his grip with a warning, “Stay where you are. I want to hear your reply before I choose what to do with you next.”

“I am not sure you deserve one,” Jensen bit out. “Did you not give me leave to go wherever I wanted? Have I not accepted your guardsmen and followed the rules you have set out for me? Why should I answer to you in this?"

“Oww!” Jensen struggled wildly, trying to pull away from the prince and the sharp blow he had just received against his still uncovered bottom.

Jared held him firmly in place with just one arm, delivering another blow before he spoke. “Keep still, Jensen! Listen to me carefully. To go behind my back as you did, to seek out the assistance of another warrior? How can I make you understand? This is nearly treason, and if nothing else, it certainly shows everyone who has seen it that you have no trust in your prince. Is that not what you called me last night, Jensen? ‘ _My prince.’_ I heard the words leave your mouth. And while you may not be willing to take the next step and acknowledge it outside this room, you did so to me. And as those words slipped past your lips, you knew that not only had you lied to me about no longer wishing to train in weaponry at my side, but you went behind my back to beg another to give you those same lessons. What would you have me think?”

Jensen stilled in the prince’s grasp. His head dropped down and he felt the sting in his rear cheeks. Contritely, he rubbed himself back against Jared’s large hand. “I did not attempt to prove myself disloyal,” he mumbled, “I merely wanted to make progress, to learn at a pace which you would not provide. It seemed innocent at the time. Are you afraid of me learning to fight and protect myself, or are you afraid that I will learn secrets about you?”

Jared laughed, “Secrets? You think that the general knows something of me that I would not have you know?” He looked down at where Jensen’s bare flesh met his hand and delivered another blow. The breathy gasp escaping Jensen’s lips was indeed satisfying to hear. “No Jensen. If I have secrets to keep, you are the one that hears them. So it would most definitely be the other way around.”

He pushed his mate forward, and let Jensen tumble onto the bed, his backside up. Pouncing on the bed beside the younger man, and leaning close to his ear, he growled into Jensen’s ear, “Why is it that when my hand strikes your backside, moans escape your lips and your cock grows hard even as tears streak down your cheeks?”

_Slap_

“Jared!” Jensen moaned in protest, struggling to pull away.

“We have a discussion to complete, I believe.” Jared kept his voice low, but held Jensen in place with one hand planted solidly in the middle of his back. “Gods! You look good with so much color there!”

_Slap_

“H-how do you suggest we have a d-discussion like this?” Jensen groaned. “I can barely think!”

“Ah, just what I wanted, then.” Jared grinned, but his tone did not lose its menacing quality. Bending lower, he tenderly kissed the side of Jensen’s lips. “I have told you before that there are some decisions that will be mine to make, and taking weapons training with anyone other than me is one of them. I forbid it. But, I have an alternate proposal for you. Return to weapons training with me, and I will not make it so easy. Will that work for you?”

_Slap_

“Jared!” Jensen exclaimed, “Th-there is more. The general has taught me so much a-about Fayar, about the politics already--”

_Slap_

“Jared! Why are you doing that?” Jensen tried to renew his struggles. The slaps were not harsh, but the stinging effect was cumulative, his nerves were afire and his arousal had sprung to life.

_Slap_

“To get you ready,” the prince declared. Suddenly, Jared turned his mate over and scanned the length of his body, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Then I have an alternate proposal.”

He reached up and nudged at Jensen’s lips with two fingers until the younger man gave up with a quizzical expression and opened his mouth. “Suck them,” Jared whispered, and Jensen closed his eyes as he complied.

A moan slipped from deep in his throat. Jensen could not help it. The feel of his sensitive flesh against the linens, his cock standing erect in the air and the prince’s fingers gliding in and out of his mouth were more than his senses could bear.

“Do you want to hear my proposal?” Jared whispered.

Jensen’s eyes fluttered open. He could tell his hips were undulating softly, but was unable to do anything to stop them. He nodded in reply.

“Meet with the general to learn more of our politics. He will be good for you in that, there are too many things that I would likely try to gloss over, shelter you from. And it will be a good opportunity to practice the language.” Jared continued to move his fingers slowly in and out of Jensen’s mouth. And while his words all made sense, he continued in the same soft, seductive tone he had been using before. “And then meet me for weapons training. I promise it will be training you will never forget.” His other hand wandered up Jensen’s inner thigh.  With a single finger he traced over his sensitive sac. “Do we have an agreement?”

Jensen nodded readily, still sucking on the prince’s fingers as they glided in and out of his mouth.

“It appears as if you are enjoying that,” Jared grinned down, pulling his fingers slowly out while moving his other hand up the length of Jensen’s swollen shaft. “Would you like to try sucking on something else?”

Jensen gasped, feeling the color rise in his face, and stared into the prince’s eyes. The older man continued to fondle his flesh, but was clearly waiting for a reply before he moved on. “I-I do not know,” Jensen mumbled. It was not true, he did want to try, and he knew he had enjoyed Jared’s attentions in that way, but he feared making the offer.

The hope in Jared’s eyes faded ever so slightly, and Jensen immediately felt himself to blame. But Jared gathered himself quickly. “Another time,” he smiled before turning his attention toward Jensen’s shaft, “For now, just let me make you feel good.”

Jensen summoned his courage and rose to his elbows. “I-I have a counter-proposal, My Lord,” he muttered, and then cleared his throat, waiting for the prince to turn to face him. “Perhaps you might spank me again, and then perhaps…I could try.”

Jared’s smile was so huge that it masked even Jensen’s nerves. He leaned down and kissed his mate soundly. “What a wonderful negotiator you are,” he grinned, “I will hold you to that offer another day, but we are already delaying the meeting as it is, and right now, I am looking forward to watching you squirm in my hands.”

_______________________  


“Enter!” Commander Benedict called out; watching as one of his most decorated junior officers entered the room. “What news do you have of our foreign warrior, major?”

“Very little that is promising, Commander,” Major Dawson began. “He has made no effort to interact other than to have taken the time to learn how to point and shoot a Disc. He can pulverize a target, but has not even made an attempt at practicing hand-to-hand combat.”

Benedict nodded. “And language, how is that coming?”

“Well,” Dawson began, “He is polite. He has learned the niceties, but fends for himself for the most part—cleaning his dishes, his clothing. He has made no further effort to communicate.”

Benedict thought for a moment. “Thank you, Major Dawson. I would like to see all the officers that are not on duty gathered in the shooting range one hour prior to the midday meal tomorrow. Everyone in full battle attire.” He got up from his seat and walked toward the door, adding as he left, “Have them seated and silent upon my arrival.”

“Aye, sir!” Dawson responded as Benedict exited the room.

***  


Christian was pacing back and forth before the large doors of the shooting range by the time Benedict arrived.

It was a large range for a small, destroyer-class vessel. For even on a vessel of this size, warriors needed to keep up their skills.

“Good morning,” Benedict addressed the young Pershebian in the only language he was sure to understand, and Christian looked up, startled. “Why are you standing out here?”

“The doors would not open today,” Christian replied. “You speak--”

“I do,” Benedict confirmed without letting the younger man continue. “Let us go inside.”

The range had changed in configuration and was darker than Christian had seen it before. It looked more like an arena now, and only the middle was lit. The older man led him toward the center.

“I am Commander Benedict. I am responsible for this vessel and its crew,” he explained.  “Show me your weapon.”

Christian unsheathed the Disc he had been given in his first few days on the vessel, holding it out for inspection.

“How much have you learned about your weapon?” Benedict asked.

“I can aim it, and I can hit what I shoot at.” Christian glowered at the other man. Something about the line of questioning put him on the defensive. “What else do I need to know?”

Rob nodded thoughtfully. “Set it to ‘practice mode,’” he ordered, watching the Pershebian carefully. “Go on. I would like to see what you have learned, but I do not wish to be pulverized if you happen to get in a lucky shot.”

Christian glanced down at the weapon in his hand, turning it from side to side, before looking back up at the ship’s commander. “I do not know how, sir,” he muttered.

“So you have sparred with no one in the weeks you have been with us?” Benedict asked, pausing long enough to see Chris shake his head. He pulled out his own Disc and displayed it. “This is a hand-to-hand combat weapon, _Fighter_. How can you expect to master larger, more advanced weapons against vast armies if you refuse to learn the proper use of this simple one?”

Chris stared at him for a moment before dropping his arms to his sides. “No one here can speak to me! Except you, that is. I do not understand their language, and they do not know mine.”

Benedict turned his back for a moment and took a few steps away; the arena remained silent. “Surely one of the many warriors who practices here each day could show you. And if you do not try to learn the language, you never will. You claim to want to defeat the enemy, but you cannot do so alone. Unless…” Benedict paused, tapping his finger against his chin as he walked back toward the young Pershebian.

Suddenly, lights came on all around them, and Christian saw that the arena was lined with stands filled with soldiers, all sitting silently and dressed in identical uniforms.

“Unless you are fighting a different enemy than the rest of us. If you still wish to protect the heir and his chosen, and keep the inhabitants of Pershebe safe from outside threats, then every man and woman in this room, and many, many more, will stand at your side and fight with you.

“But, if you have another mission…” Benedict again stopped speaking abruptly. This time he turned slowly, looking proudly out upon the warriors under his command, and called out in Fayarian, “All here who would give their lives in defense of the prince, stand and say ‘aye!’”

The mass rose as one and the roar was deafening.

Benedict turned back to Christian. “I have just asked who among them would give their lives for the heir. So if you have some misguided belief that you are on a mission of your own, end it now.”

Christian stared at the man for a moment, and then nodded his head slightly.

Benedict nodded in reply and turned to the major. “Major Dawson, dismiss the troops and then show this fighter how fighting is done. Tomorrow he can practice with the others.”

Benedict walked out without glancing back.

Christian watched as the warriors left and he turned his attention to the major. He would do it. He would learn. And in many ways, the commander was right. Chris did need these people to defend his home; he could not do it alone.

But he did have another agenda, as well. And he did not believe for a minute that his plan was lost. If there was a man beneath that crown, any sort of man at all, then he would certainly answer Christian’s challenge when it came. What man would not?


	3. Chapter 3

“It will just take a moment,” Jensen insisted, tugging at Jared’s hand and leading him down the corridor toward the laboratory he had become so familiar with. Sometime in the last few weeks, he’d grown accustomed to the feel of the prince’s hand in his own. “I need to check on my elixir. I cannot always leave it in the care of others.”

“Others? Oh…you mean Misha, do you not? For there is no one else you would trust your precious potion to. We are already late,” Jared groaned, knowing that the entire Elite Council, save he and Jensen, would be waiting for them in the Center. “Can this not be postponed until later?”

“It is almost on the way,” Jensen insisted, “And I have already neglected this responsibility far too long.”

They arrived at the lab just minutes later only to find it empty, all the lights—save those over the brew—dimmed. Jensen studied the elixir within the glass container carefully, and then checked the readings on the pressure and temperature gauges—all seemed to be in order. Finally, he proclaimed, “Okay, on to the agritory!” He did not wait for Jared to respond, he simply continued on the path, and nearly laughed when he heard the guardsmen follow him before Jared had the chance to offer a single word of dissent.

The warm air of the agritory against his skin and the sight of his friend tending to his precious plants made Jensen almost forget that he could only stay a few minutes. He sighed heavily when he remembered, and Misha looked up questioningly at that very moment.

“All is well here,” Misha smiled, rubbing his hands together to rid them of as much soil as possible. He looked from his prince to his friend. “And in the laboratory as well,” he added.

“Thank you, I appreciate everything you have done.” Jensen smiled, offering his friend a simple handshake. There really had never been a need for such gestures between them, not even the verbal gratitude, but Misha accepted both anyway.

“Is it ready?” Jared interrupted.

“I am sorry, My Lord,” Misha responded, perplexed. “I do not understand. Is what ready?”

“The elixir. Can it be used again?” Jared asked.

“I-I do not know,” Misha stammered, turning to Jensen. “I just follow the instructions given to me, I do not know in what direction they lead.”

“So, is it still usable?” Jared turned his attention to Jensen this time. “Have you managed to maintain your elixir in a functional state?”

Jensen looked from Misha to Jared and back. He was not surprised by the line of questioning, but only by its timing. The prince seemed so bent on making it to their meeting on time that this delay seemed…out of character for the man. But it was not the first time Jared had asked about the elixir, so questions about it were nothing new. “Um,” he said, gathering his thoughts, “The elixir acts just as it did in all the tests that I conducted before…the _final_ test. Everything I have done indicates that it is the same formulation and will maintain its potency, although I cannot make that guarantee. I would need to test it on a willing subject again.” He raised his head and grinned at Jared, knowing as he did that there was only one truly willing subject available, and that the identity of that subject was a secret the prince had trusted him with.

The grin dropped just seconds later when he remembered the feeling that he had the night he had trialed the nectar on Jared, the feeling that he had gone just one step beyond what was necessary—that he had delved farther into the prince’s thoughts than he needed to in order to prove the efficacy of his elixir. If given another opportunity, Jensen swore to himself that he would not repeat that transgression.

“Very good,” Jared replied, and then with a curt nod to Misha, he grabbed Jensen’s hand again and headed back toward the Center.

“Perhaps we could come up with a list of questions next time,” Jensen suggested as their pace quickened.

“What?” The prince asked, slowing just enough that they could converse as they walked.

“The next time we test the elixir,” Jensen continued his thought. “Perhaps we could set up a list of questions ahead of time, and I could stick to that.”

Jared nodded and sped up again. “Perhaps.”

 

***  


“It is a marble!” Major Parrack exclaimed, rolling the dull, metal ball between his fingers. “You plan to shoot a nab...nabo... _marble_ more than a dozen parsecs through space and accomplish _what_ exactly?”

Lindberg was pacing back and forth already; his presentation was going nowhere fast. And without the backing from the Heir or the scientific support from the Chosen, Lindberg and his staff had little ground to stand on. Why had the general insisted he begin his presentation before they arrived? He began to tug at his hair, like he always did when he was nervous.

“Well, you see,” he began, holding up a foot-long replica of his model, “the tracking and guidance systems are located here, in the nose of the device. The tracer will send a signal back when it reaches the Bands. And the guidance system will detect the beta emitters, causing the entire outer casing to break away, allowing the Nabbotium to bond freely with the Radon Bands.” He smiled as he drew in a deep breath. That made sense to him. It all made perfect sense.

“Really?” Commander Pileggi laughed. He had come over from the escort ship, _Fineer_ for each of these meetings. “And that is your best explanation?”

“What have we missed?” Jared demanded, entering what was certainly the middle of a heated debate.

“Well,” Pileggi smirked, waving toward Lindberg, “this _scientist_ was just explaining the rationale for shooting a marble through space.” He plopped down atop the oval table. “Please proceed Lindberg. I’m certain the prince is most interested in your findings.”

“Ahem,” Jensen cleared his throat and approached the Fayarian he had been working with for the past two weeks on the development of a delivery system. He reached a hand out for the model and while he kept his head down, he raised his eyes to meet Chad’s, hoping the man would hand it over without further prompting.

Lindberg was more than happy to be rid of the device and was rewarded with a grin from the Chosen. He responded in kind and returned, relieved, to his seat.

“Um,” Jensen began, swiping the back of his head, trying to gain a moment to decide where to start.

“We talked about guidance and tracking,” Lindberg prodded.

“Right, thanks,” Jensen grinned. “Um…you see, as the Nabbotium approaches the barrier, the beta particles emitted by the Radon Bands will cause the Nabbotium to degrade into its gaseous state. That is why it is crucial for the guidance system to detect the Radon and break away.” He paused long enough to break the model apart, exposing the marble-sized ball of Nabbotium within the device. “That gas will react with the barrier to create an entirely new element that will generate a hole or holes in the Bands. Those holes will allow communication to pass through for a limited amount of time.” Jensen gasped in a deep breath. It felt like his first since he had begun.

“Okay,” Major Parrack nodded in some semblance of understanding, “Then why not a torpedo or a barrage of missiles? Why a _marble_?”

The general stood this time, and Jensen found himself looking fondly toward the older man. “From what I’ve learned already, I think I can make this clearer, for all us soldier-types. My Lord, what did you tell me happened when you used larger amounts of Nabbotium against the barrier on Pershebe?”

Jensen barely registered the words, and only because they ended with “Pershebe.” Nothing that began with “my lord” ever involved him. But Jared picked up on it smoothly, nudging him at the same time as he spoke, “Yes, Jensen, what were you saying happened in your experiments before you came here?”

“Oh, yes!” Jensen looked from the prince to General Beaver, feeling a sense of guilt that this was something he had told the general but had not found the time to share with Jared. It was not important, it was just a detail, but the general knew it, and Jared did not. “The larger the amount of Nabbotium, the greater the reaction involved—that means your portal will remain open for a longer amount of time, and that period of time will become nearly impossible for us to predict. It has been explained to me that you may wish your communications abilities to remain undetected at this point, so this design was implemented with that in mind. Many launches can be made, and as Dr. Lindberg tells me, in the vacuum of space, each projectile of this size should take no more than four days to reach its destination. That would make communication available pretty much at your convenience, and unavailable to your, uh...”

“Enemies,” Jared filled in where his mate left off. “It is acceptable to say the word, Jensen.” He stood up slowly and met every set of eyes around the table. “If there is anyone here who objects to the term, this would be the time to voice your dispute.”

It was several moments before anyone spoke, but leave it to Lindberg to break the tension. “So, I take it we launch the marble?”

Jared sat back down and gestured for Jensen to take his place at his side. “Discussion?” He offered.

“How many do we have?” Pileggi asked.

“Delivery systems, or marbles?” Lindberg grinned.

“Either,” the older man growled.

“Okay,” Chad grumbled, “Right now we have twelve systems and seven Nabbotium marbles.” He sighed aloud and paused just long enough to look around the room. “And when did we start calling them marbles?!”

Ignoring the comment, Pileggi went on, “So we have seven comm opps?”

“For now, yes,” Lindberg agreed, “But the Nabbotium is not that difficult to extract from the hull of our fleet of ships without causing any disturbance in their service capabilities.”

“So, we have an endless supply of marbles?” The general asked.

“Maybe not endless,” Lindberg qualified, “but more than enough to get us to Freyrusia. Even beyond the Bands if we needed to.”

There was a soft hum throughout the room as the elite consulted quietly amongst themselves. Jared waited a few minutes before he spoke again.

“No more discussion then? Questions?” He looked around the table and waited a full minute before he continued. “Then it is my proposal that we plan our first launch one week from today. All in agreement, say ‘Aye.’”

“Why one week?” The general interrupted immediately. “We have the ability now, why not take advantage of it?”

Jared traced his finger along the edge of the table for a long moment before looking up. “We have other questions that must be addressed first. I regret to admit that we have traitors amongst us. We have already suffered—my mate has already suffered—from ill-preparation once, and I care not to repeat that mistake again. It is a problem that must be dealt with, at least to some extent, before we can reach out to Delthestica. And I believe that is a meeting for another day.” He paused for a moment so that he could summon his strength and speak with the all the courage and leadership he had learned at his grandfather’s and at the general’s side, “So for today, can we agree to launch in one week?!”

Jared felt the group take a collective breath, and he knew from years of experience that agreement was moments away. It seemed as if every man and woman around the table stood in unison—

“Wait!” Pileggi called out.

And the half-standing Elite Council settled into their seats once again.

“Are you saying that we do not know who the traitors amongst us are?” Pileggi glared at the prince. “Hasn’t the prisoner been questioned?”

Jared sighed heavily, pushed back his chair and stood abruptly. “Tracy has been questioned—numerous times,” Jared explained. “And under the intense examination of the general, myself, and every interrogator in this fleet, he has given up the name of every seller, every agrician, every keeper and every soldier he knows by name. I am not looking for a witch-hunt here; I am looking for answers. So far, John Emmet Tracy has given us none.”

“Let me!” Pileggi demanded. “I can make him talk!”

General Beaver rose to his feet with an eerie laugh, and strode over to get close to the commander’s face. “Oh, we have _all_ made him talk, commander. We have made him scream and shout and sing! But when he names _everyone_ on board _every_ ship in this fleet, including _you_ , Commander Pileggi, who do you suggest I assign to the cell next to him first?”

Pileggi took a step back and looked toward the prince. “So what will one more week do?”

“I do have a plan,” Jared explained, deliberately lowering his voice.

“Forgive me, My Lord,” Jensen interrupted, whispering softly in Jared’s ear. “I am not following what is going on. I understand the traitors. And I understand your prisoner,” his voice grew even quieter with the word. “But I do not see the need to wait to make contact.”

Jared smiled and nodded in response. He was glad that Jensen did as he asked, and let him know when the speed or depth of conversation surpassed his ability to comprehend the language. “That is a good question,” he replied quietly, “Ask the general in your lesson later,” before turning his attention to the elite crew and raising his voice, “So tomorrow we will meet here again. We will discuss contact with both Delthestica and Freyrusia and other related plans. Can we agree to at least that much?”

“Aye!” The group responded at once.

 

_______________________  
  


Misha stopped Jensen before he reached the laboratory. “You cannot go in,” he mumbled, “You have not eaten. Come with me.”

Jensen was already tired, and did not have the energy to protest. He had spent the past hour training with Jared. Well, if he could call running, dodging, howling when the practice beam caught him in its grasp, and falling to the ground in a heap, training, then that was what he had been doing. Otherwise, he might have called it something more like slaughter, or if he was really feeling sorry for himself, Pershebian sacrifice.

“I ate before…” he offered a dismal protest.

“No you did not,” Misha shook his head and pulled Jensen along with him. “A sliver of collfish and a bite of bread is not eating. If you want to work today, you will eat first.”

“How did you--?” But Jensen stopped mid-question. He had long since quit guessing how Misha knew anything. Jensen followed the tug at his sleeve. It was obvious Misha was not giving up, and Jensen really wanted to get into the lab for at least a short time before he met with the general this afternoon. His feet grew steadier as he realized they were headed for the agritory. The warm, humid air always put him at ease.

Inside the growery, next to his beautiful bushes, and across from the trees that were starting to sprout from the soil Jensen had helped Misha cultivate so many weeks ago, the agrician had placed a basket of food on a tiny table just a foot off the ground. Misha stood over him with stern eyes and crossed arms until Jensen had sampled at least a little bit of everything in the basket. And finally, Misha smiled and let him go with a nod.

Jensen headed toward the lab, his stomach full and satisfied, a smile on his face, and warmth in his heart for his friend. He heard the familiar sounds of the  guardsmen's footsteps following him, and even that made him grin in response. He leaned against the ship to get close to Pershebe at this moment that felt so good, so happy, and when  _Fighter_ rushed up in front of him as someone passed, hissing  _“you don’t belong here!”_ , it really didn’t bother him at all.

______________________  
  


Jared spent his usual time on the Command Deck—the crew was edgy with so many members missing on a regular basis and he had no desire to add to their unease—before heading toward the general’s quarters. It seemed strange somehow, that just a short time from now, his mate would be sitting in those very same rooms, listening to the words of the man who had devoted a good part of his life to the prince’s education and well being.

Changing directions at the last minute, he took a quick shuttle to the agritory and hoped he would not cross paths with Jensen right now. Not that he minded seeing Jensen; he simply did not want his mate to think that he was following his every move.

“You look tired, My Lord,” the young agrician said as soon as the prince entered the agritory. “Jensen is not here.”

“I did not come to see him, I came to see you,” Jared replied.

Misha offered no response. He was here; the prince was looking for him. What else was there to do but wait?

“Jensen was here?” Jared asked, glancing around as if he could see the fingerprints or footsteps he’d left behind.

“He was, My Lord,” Misha nodded in agreement before adding, “He left with the guardsmen for the  laboratory nearly thirty minutes ago.”

“I would have thought he would go there first,” Jared huffed in surprise.

“You know him well, sir,” Misha answered softly. “He did go there first. I met him there and brought him to the agritory.”

“To eat?”

“Yes, My Lord, to eat,” Misha consoled. Everything about the prince seemed to be asking for reassurance. It was the least the humble agrician could offer. “He needed it, and I knew you would want it.”

“And he ate?”

“He did,” Misha assured, he felt the corners of his lips turn up, and he did nothing to stop them.

“Thank you,” the prince replied as he turned and headed out.

It was not a long distance to the general’s quarters, but it was enough time to clear his head. As soon as he turned the corner, he was ready for the confrontation he knew was coming ever since the Elite Council had adjourned earlier in the day. But at that very moment, he saw those three familiar faces, the ones that told him Jensen was already on the other side of the door. His meeting with the general would have to wait.

 

________________________  
  


“Sit…there,” the general hesitated and then pointed at a stiff chair near his small kitchen. He took most of his meals in the mess hall, but his rank still provided him some amenities. “You are filthy!”

“I-I am sorry,” Jensen muttered. “I was training with Ja-, uh, the prince, and then I went to the laboratory. Misha would not allow me entry if I did not eat, and I did not get back there until it was almost time to meet with you. So I--”

“Stop!” The general exclaimed. “Son, I’m a fighting man. In my line of work it is ‘Yes, sir,’ or ‘No, sir,’ or ‘It won’t happen again, sir.’ Not that I expect those words from you, I just expect you to cut to the chase.”

“Cut?” Jensen started trying to piece the words together. “Cut the chase? I do not understand, general.”

“Gods!” General Beaver exclaimed, but he could not help but grin at their total lack of communication despite all the strides Jensen had made. “It is just a phrase. A group of words that means shut up right now!”

“Okay,” Jensen whispered, but the smirk on his face made it obvious the general’s bluster did not really fool him.

“Where to start then?” the general asked no one in particular. He was pacing the room and looking around. “What shall we discuss today?”

“I have a suggestion, general,” Jensen offered, “That is, if I can skip the ‘chase cutting’ for now.”

That was it; the general started laughing—so hard he sank down in the chair across from the Chosen and wondered how this young man kept up such determination with all that had been thrown in his path. It was a sobering thought, one that made his laughter stop suddenly.

“Tell me, Jensen, where would you like to start?” He asked softly, meeting the young man’s eyes and hoping to convey his sincerity.

“Can you show me the realm of Fayar? I would like to see the worlds in it and the worlds around it. And can you tell me why the prince wants to wait to make contact?” General Beaver looked surprised by the request, so Jensen hurried to explain. “I asked him during the meeting, but he told me to ask you.”

“Okay,” the general nodded. “We can start there. But just so you know, I have known _the prince_ since he was a baby, so if you call him Jared in front of me, it is acceptable. Actually, you can call him by his name any time you want, as long as it is not in a derisive tone.”

Jensen looked at him curiously. “Why would I do that?”

“I suspect you have your reasons,” the general mused.

“And no one would accept or understand them,” Jensen countered, a scowl on his face for the first time since he entered the room.

“I am sorry,” General Beaver replied. “I have no desire to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable, only to educate you on appropriate protocol and history. So, shall we move on?”

Jensen nodded; it was part of the reason he came here, after all.

Within an hour, the two men had maps strewn across the floor: interstellar maps, intergalactic maps, and even topological planetary maps.

“So, this is Fayar?” Jensen asked, pointing to a map that included only those planets that revolved around _Netada_ , which, from the general’s description, sounded a lot like his own _Abeil_.

“Yes,” the general concurred. “Fayar is closest to Matreria and Psaldrad, both planets which are within the realm.” He pointed to each as he spoke. “Most of the worlds within the realm offer what Fayar cannot, and Fayar gives to them what they need in return.”

“Does Fayar take what it wants?” Jensen asked.

“We have done so when we have had to,” the general answered. There was no reason not to be honest with the Chosen—he would learn soon enough. “But it has almost always been for the greater good.”

“Explain,” Jensen sat on the floor, his back against the chair and his legs sprawled out before him. He cast a glare at the general and waited for a response.

General Beaver sighed. It had been years since anyone addressed him so casually, even the prince. In fact, it was the prince, the man in his childhood, who had last confronted him so abruptly. Afloat after the loss of his mother and then his grandfather, and left in the hands of Leader Jeff and whatever nanny Jeff favored that week, Jared had been cynical and wary, even of the general whom he knew so well. General Beaver had assumed responsibility for the youth then, and taken him into the ranks of the military at a much younger age than any before him, just to free him from the clutches of the Tsettellite. Of all the battles he had fought and all the missions he had been on, freeing Jared from Jeff's control would always be the general’s greatest victory.

He shook his head to clear it of the memory, and turned to the young man he was counseling this day. “Well, when I was a young soldier, I fought in the Gerandellar wars. We say ‘wars’ because there was a series of them. The leader of Gerandella at the time was never satisfied with the outcome and continued to stir up rebellions once a truce was established.”

“That does not answer my question,” Jensen replied.

“I am getting there,” General Beaver explained, and he pulled over another map and pointed at a tiny dot. “Do you see this planet here? It is very small.” He waited until Jensen nodded. “That is Laiguron. Laiguron has been part of the Fayarian realm for longer than I know. It is small, but densely inhabited. And the people there grow and prepare several medicinal plants that have saved the lives of warriors throughout the realm. Laiguron has the protection of Fayar, and when Gerandella threatened that tiny planet, Fayar had no choice but to take the fight _to_ Gerandella. We could not fight near Laiguron and risk losing innocent lives and the resources they offered, and we could not back away from the oath we had given. So even though Gerandella never made a move on Fayar, we invaded, full-force, and many, many Gerandellar warriors lost their lives.”

“Not Fayarian?” Jensen asked.

“Not as many. What Laiguron offered stopped much of the blood loss, provided healing balms, and prevented infection. So while we took the fight to Gerandella, Laiguron sped up production and rushed their medicines to our fighters.” The general stopped for a moment and evaluated his new student. “Does this make sense to you? Can you understand why it had to happen?”

“I think so,” Jensen looked from one map to another. He moved the papers around, superimposing one on top of another. “Where is Jared’s father from?”

The general crawled toward the appropriate map. This was getting difficult. He was not a young man anymore, and crawling around on the floor of a space vessel was not easy on his bones. “Here,” he pointed to a dot much larger than the one he had singled out before. “That is Tsettel. It is only a few light years from Fayar, but until the marriage between Jared’s mother and father, the two worlds were in a never-ending battle. That marriage, that peace, seemed to most to be the answer to their prayers.”

“But not to you,” Jensen said, eyeing the general critically. “What did it say to you?”

The general dropped his head for a moment. He could feign, he could defer, or he could do what was right and be honest. He chose the last option. “To me, it said we let evil win. We let them have a piece of us instead of taking the fight to them like we did to Gerandella. It said we surrendered to the darkness.”

“And the darkness? That is Jared’s father?” Jensen asked. He kept his emotions at bay. This was important. It was politics, even if it involved the prince, and he had every right to know it.

“Jeff is part of it, he is not all of it though,” the general responded. “I think you are answering your own question.

“Huh?”

“You asked why we do not make contact now. That is why. Jeff has had twenty-five years to allow evil to filter into the realm. Finding it all, even amongst the crew of our own fleet, will be difficult.” He looked toward the stunned youth, a young man who could not imagine the idea of his father plotting against him. “We have been gone for almost two and a half years. It has been a year and a half since we had any contact, and the last contact we had was not good. Alona is too trusting, and Jeff feeds off such faith.”

“Gods!” Jensen exclaimed.

“Do you want to hear this?!” The general reprimanded sharply.

“Y-yes, sir,” Jensen mumbled, “I am sorry.”

“So we have expected, and planned, to return to a battlefield. A warzone. We have contingencies in place, strategies mapped out. The entire Elite Council is aware of the situation. Neither the prince nor I had any hope for peace upon crossing the Radon Bands. But you have given us that hope, and revealing our advantage would strip us of what little we have. If we make contact with Delthestica, or even with Freyrusia before we land, and a traitor here gets a coded message across, or a traitor there knows that it is the royal fleet making contact, everything you have done, every minute you have spent reading those books, or finding deposits of Nabbotium or calculating distance or speed, or whatever it is you do, will be lost. If we show our hand and let the enemy see it, they will be prepared before we are even within six months of Fayar by the fastest ships in the fleet.”

Jensen sat back for a moment and then leaned forward again. His fingers traced the paths between planets. Between Fayar and Delthestica. Fayar and Tsettel. Fayar and Freyrusia.

“And this planet, Freyrusia, is it within the realm?” He asked as his fingers continued to make interplanetary connections.

“No,” General Beaver shook his head. “Freyrusia is beyond the Bands, and while we are friendly with them, and the Royal Guard that protects Pershebe uses Freyrusia as a base to receive information and supplies from Fayar, it is impossible to protect them when we cannot contact them directly. So, superficially they retain their neutrality, but the prime minister is well aware of how much support they receive from the realm.”

“So why don’t we contact them if we are going to stop there?” Jensen asked. This was very confusing.

The general smirked. “We will before we land, but the message cannot be seen as coming from a royal vessel. Most likely someone on board one of the support ships will request docking privileges, and Jared will transfer to that vessel before it docks. The royal fleet is provisioned for the entire trip, a stop in Freyrusia would signal red flags to any and all who would stand in opposition to Fayar. That stop will be as discreet as possible, but because of its importance, the prince must be there. It would be seen as an insult if someone, such as myself or one of the other vessel commanders were to represent the interests of Fayar.”

“It must be difficult,” Jensen sighed.

“What must be?” General Beaver asked.

“Being him,” Jensen replied. “My parents loved me, and still I hated them at times. I cannot imagine his life.”

The general sat back and waited, it did nott seem as if the younger man was finished with his thought.

“What can it be like? I mean, always worrying about what others will think. What others will say. How your actions will be viewed. Even about me.” He caught the general’s eye for a moment, “Oh, I do not worry about what they say about me, it does not matter. What I meant by that is when Jared found out that I had asked you to teach me to use a weapon, he said that my actions showed other people that I had no trust in him. Is that true? Is that what people think?”

General Beaver took a moment to get up off the ground—it gave him time to compose his response. He shuffled over to the kitchen, pulling out a drink and offering the younger man one as well. When Jensen shook his head, the general growled, “Drink it, or neither of us will hear the end of it.”

Jensen reached out hesitantly and grabbed the vas. He was thirsty after all.

“Jared is unique,” the general started. “He can fight. Gods, can that boy fight! And he will if he has to, but he would rather talk than fight any day. And he did not get that from his father or his grandfather. Or even from me. I do not know where it came from. It is just him. He was raised at the foot of someone and at the end of some protocol his entire life.

“His mother was sick until she died when he was six, so he spent a good deal of his time at the foot of her bed. His grandfather ruled the realm long after he would have preferred to leave with his mate, so Jared sat at the foot of his throne as well.” The general looked down and gestured for Jensen to sit at the table with him. “So every royal protocol was drilled into him before he reached his tenth annum. And after that? Well, I do not believe I helped ease that part of his upbringing much, I might have offered shelter, but the military life has a set of rules and protocols all its own. He has spent his life watching out for posers and tricksters and traitors—for those that would lead him astray, lead him to embarrassment or lead him to death. He does not have a lot of room for trust. So, while I do not suggest for a moment that you have a reason to trust him, he tries hard to find reasons to trust you. And what seem like tiny lapses to you, on a royal scale, are much larger.”

“And yet you agreed to teach me,” Jensen looked at the other man quizzically.

The general took a long sip and set his vas on the table before him.  He took a minute to look at his student.  Probably the last student he would ever take on.  “I have several jobs here. I command. I fight. I strategize. I teach. But it is your job to learn. And sometimes, experience is the best lesson.”

 

_________________________  
  


“I cannot!” Jared exclaimed, finally at the end of his rope. He glanced around the room at all the maps that still covered the floor, and the strength left him. “I just cannot.”

“Are you telling me the elixir no longer works?” The general asked, slowly walking around the room and gathering up his maps.

“No.”

“So, are you saying that it is so potent that it will injure the prisoner?” The general continued his probe.

“No!” Jared replied more forcefully.

“Then why are you waiting? If it is good enough for you, it is good enough for that bastard!” The general hissed.

“Did he eat?” Jared asked.

“What?!” General Beaver exclaimed.

“Did Jensen eat?” Jared clarified.

“Oh, Gods! Jared!” Beaver clapped him on the back of his head. “Get a grip! I have not done that since you were twelve. Do not make me take you to the range! He did not eat. He ate with Misha before he came. I am not his mother!”

Jared leaned back against the counter and rubbed his head. “General, I am sorry. I do not know…”

“I _do_ know. I get it. It is okay,” he soothed. This was way out of his usual territory, but he’d seen Jared’s grandfather similarly distressed, without anything that resembled resolution, so he had hope for the young prince. “He is okay, probably more okay than he should be. You, on the other hand, do not look so good. What are you so worried about?”

“The elixir,” Jared confessed on an exhale. “If I use it without asking him, he will feel betrayed. If I ask him, he will say ‘no.’”

“Easy decision,” the general replied, grabbing a bite of toast. “Do not ask him. Tell him or do not, but the elixir is the answer. You may lose a little ground in your relationship.  But no one has ever bonded on the Journey to Fayar, why would you expect to be the first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are ♥ Please make me feel loved! :)
> 
> You all are wonderful!!


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen rushed into their quarters, surprised to find himself the sole occupant. It was past time for the evening meal, and after one last brief stop at the laboratory, he had hurried to their rooms, knowing that Jared would be upset if he was late in joining the prince at their table. But now he wandered around the room with little appetite, and spent his time thinking while he waited for the Heir to arrive.

He did not bother to take a seat, the aroma from the buffet did not entice him in the least. Instead, Jensen headed to the portals and gazed out into space, wondering if all these planets and stars had names as well, or if it was only so common on the far side of the Radon Bands.  A place he had never seen, but where he was destined to spend the rest of his life.

His time with the general had indeed proved useful. In just four days, he had learned more about the politics and the worlds within Fayar’s realm than he could read in all the texts he had discovered aboard the vessel. Most of the books and ledgers were scientific in nature, and that made sense—they were old and of Pershebian origin. How could any ancient Pershebian scientist understand modern-day Fayarian politics?

The general had given him much to think about, and in that process, Jensen had generated many more questions to ask. Some he was sure the general would not, or possibly, could not  answer.

But Jared had told him he had no secrets. Had the prince not said that he would share anything with him? Perhaps this was the night to find out.

He barely had a moment to think through the simplest of plans before the door slid open, the prince pausing in the doorway for a moment before entering. Jensen turned his head quizzically at the sight. Jared never hesitated when entering their quarters.

“Are you well, My Lord?” He asked. The door remained open, and the guardsmen were still on the other side, yet to depart for the evening. Formality seemed prudent.

Jared shook his head as if to clear it, and strode through, allowing the door to slide closed behind him. “I am fine,” he confirmed. And then he looked at Jensen with a grin. His mate nearly always made him smile, almost regardless of his mood. “But look at you. You are dirty, and I can smell you from here!”

Jensen glanced down at himself and remembered the general’s earlier, similar remark. How had he forgotten? “Oh, yes. W-well,” he hurried to explain, “you see, I went from our training—well, if it could be called that, more like a rout in my opinion—to the laboratory. And Misha, well he is a tyrant. He barred my access until I would eat. I-I did not want to miss my meeting with the…” He curtailed his defense the second the prince raised a hand in the air.

“You are as filthy as a rummager rat scrabbling for his next fetid morsel,” Jared said. He looked around the room, but not necessarily in distaste. The comment was more of an assessment than an insult. “Even as the evening meal remains sitting here untouched. What have you been doing while you waited for my return?"

“Thinking,” Jensen answered without hesitation.

“Then you must have done a great deal of thinking,” Jared smirked, “If neither the smell of your own sweat nor the aroma of the food distracted you. Go bathe, Jensen. Soak for some time if that is your desire, I can wait. And then we will sup together.”

As Jensen’s head lowered and he turned toward the other room, Jared called to him, “Oh, how did your lesson with the general go?”

Jensen looked back, startled. “Did you not talk with him about it?" He asked.

“Why would I?” Jared replied casually, grabbing a sugared bread stick from the platter on the table and dipping it in the caramel sauce beside it. “And even if I had, he would not share such information with me. He must maintain your confidence if he wishes you to be comfortable in your studies with him. I did speak with the general, but it was not about your lesson.”

“It went…well,” Jensen mumbled, considering the words Jared had spoken. “I have many more unanswered questions, however.”

“Good,” Jared smiled, rubbing his hands together over the cloth to rid them of the excess sugar before licking the caramel from his lips. “When you finish, we can eat. And if I can answer any of those questions for you, I will. I rather miss our language lessons, anyway. I fear your language skills have surpassed my abilities to guide. Perhaps I can assist you in other ways.”

As Jensen disappeared into the bath, he heard Jared’s final words:  “Soak in the warm water, Jensen. If it was truly a _rout_ as you say, your muscles will need it!” He even heard the smirk in the prince’s voice.

 

____________________  


 

“Come in, Major Dawson.  What news do you bring me?” Benedict lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. They had travelled a long ways toward Freyrusia, at such high speeds, and burning fuel and resources at such great rates that had never been attempted before. His nerves were frazzled, but he had no one to share that concern with, and his crew deserved a strong leader.

There had been no contact with the marshal for several weeks. Such communications drained much needed power from his engines, and he could not risk frequent disruptions in their journey. Today was an exception. Just weeks away from their target, this was a predetermined rendezvous, and he was in need of the support.

Nevertheless, he had a job to do, a mission to command, and a report to give. He would not head into that unprepared.

“The troops are well prepared, sir,” Dawson reported. “They are aware that this is an unanticipated landing, and that they do not know what to expect when we arrive. They have been drilling, sleeping and eating like soldiers preparing for battle, Commander. I am proud to be a part of your team.” His posture reflected that pride. And Benedict had seen it himself. Each man and woman on the vessel walked with his or her shoulders high. They ate their meals—all their meals. They slept when they were expected to sleep, and they drilled as if their lives, or their fellow warriors’ lives, depended on it. He was proud of his crew as well.

“And our Pershebian? How is he progressing?” Benedict asked. It had been several weeks since the confrontation and Benedict purposely avoided crossing paths with the man. As far as the Pershebian knew, the commander was the only one aboard who spoke Pershebian, and the last thing Benedict wanted to do was give him the opportunity to avoid acclimating to his new environment.

“It is astonishing, Commander,” the major replied. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Benedict grinned; Roché had said that the youth was quite a fighter, so apparently he was turning out to be an asset after all. “So he can fight. Has he graduated to larger weapons?”

“Oh, yes, Commander Benedict,” Dawson elaborated. “I have seen him in hand-to-hand combat with and without weapons, and I have seen him use Eliminators, Scouts, and even the Scallys, as well. His proficiency grows daily. In hand-to-hand combat I do not believe there is a warrior on this vessel that could take him one-on-one. I think he would be a challenge for even the Heir himself.” Major Dawson finished his report with nothing but accolades for their newest crewmember. “Will he be given a place in our ranks, Commander?”

Benedict raised his head abruptly. This was not a question he had anticipated. “Not until he learns the language can he expect such a privilege! And even then, he must prove himself as we all have.”

“Of course, sir,” the major lowered his head. “But even in language, his growth astounds us all. He speaks as if he was born to the language. He woos our newest guards, and I have to keep them on task.” The major grinned. “He is a charmer. Even when he is fast at work, beating them in a fair fight, they offer him comfort in their arms.”

Commander Benedict’s Comm chimed and he hustled the major out, hastily thanking him for his service. Hurrying back to his seat, he opened the link. “Benedict!” He barked.

“So good to hear from you!” Roché said. His voice crackled over the distance, but Benedict could not miss the inflection, or the purposeful rebuke. “You missed our last rendezvous.”

“Unintentional, Marshal, I assure you. We plotted a last-minute alternate route to avoid a meteor shower and were speeding though a nebula at the designated time for communication, and despite our best efforts, we were unable to make contact through the mist. We did not dare slow our progress in fear of being pulled into a gravity well within its midst.”

“Then all is good, I hope. We feared for you and your crew, Benedict,” Roché said.

The tone of the marshal’s voice caught him by surprise. “Forgive me, Marshal. All is well. We have been training hard, and we have been travelling at full speed. It seems as if we are all a bit harried. But the troops are holding up. They are assuming battle stances, and I am proud to be in command of this vessel. I daresay we are within eight weeks of Freyrusia.”

“And your newest warrior?” Roché queried. “How has he settled under your command?”

“It is difficult to say,” Benedict began. He picked up the Comm and wandered toward the portal facing in the direction of their destination. There was little to be seen at this speed, but it still helped to settle his mind. He spent his life here in space, after all. “He is a puzzle to me, a conundrum. I do not know his motivation, and I confess that I find that troublesome. At first he was resistant, refused lessons.  He would not interact with others. But after one brief lesson, more of a show of force, really, it seems as if that he has made a complete turnaround. Major Dawson tells me he has become proficient in our weapons and has even begun to master our language. How can that happen in just a matter of weeks?”

“I told you he was special, did I not?” Roché responded. “I do not know for certain, but I believe he is the answer to much.”

“Much?” Benedict asked. “What do we need to ask except about the Heir?”

“Do you really believe the prince is dead?” Roché asked simply.

“You know that I do not,” Benedict frowned.

“Then where _are_ the Nechi-Mou?” Roché postulated. “What reward are they being offered in return for not denying involvement in such an atrocity? And where will they actually attack?  For we know that no reward would be good enough for the Nechi-Mou if it did not involve bloodshed.”

Benedict stood up straight. “And will they have assistance? Will they be alone or attack with greater organization than ever before?” He was beginning to understand the marshal’s train of thought. He paused long enough to contemplate the importance of his next question. “And if we agree that it is not true, then who would start such a wicked rumor? Who would benefit from it?”

“Precisely my concern, Commander!” Roché exclaimed. “I do not think anyone would be stupid enough to empower the Nechi-Mou, but that does not mean they would not offer a lovely reward for the havoc they can create.” He paused long enough for Benedict to catch up. “Train your new fighter well, he has unique talents that no others among our guards have. He has the confidence of the people who raised him, and the trust of the Chosen, and those might prove to be valuable qualities one day.”

“I will, Marshal Roché. In the meantime, we are weeks from Freyrusia. Do we stick to the plan?” Benedict asked.

“Of course,” Roché replied. “When you request docking privileges, you are ostensibly doing nothing more than what Leader Jeff has asked of us: returning to Fayar that which is Fayar’s. But go straight to Prime Minister Ferris upon your arrival, she will understand your mission. She will a least provide you with a corvette-class vessel to hasten your travel across the Bands in order to find answers. Your supplies will make it to Freyrusia?”

“Our supplies will make it, barely. We have burned through more fuel than on any trip before, but we will make it. And I will speak with the prime minister upon my arrival, you have my word.”

“I never doubted it, Rob. Oh, and in your diplomacy, I am certain you will keep your newest crewmember safely secured upon your vessel?” Roché added, in what sounded like an afterthought. “I believe it best to keep him away from the prime minister. She is Fayarian born, and need not know about your Pershebian.

“Of course, Marshal Roché,” Benedict responded without hesitation. “Until next time.”

“Until next time,” Roché agreed, and the Comm went silent.

Weeks to go, and that was his last planned communication with his fellow Royal Guard leaders. He and his crew were on their own now. It was their mission, and they were ready for it. And that included _his Pershebian_. 

 

_________________________  


 

They ate in silence, and not a comfortable one. Jensen found it difficult to find his appetite at all. “Are you sure you are well?” He asked, glancing across the table toward the prince.

Jared dropped his fork and sighed. Pushing back from the table, he patted his lap and smiled softly at his mate.  “Come here, love.”

Jensen hesitated for a moment, but Jared’s smile encouraged him, and he walked around the table to join the prince, sitting atop his lap as he often did during their lessons.

The prince maneuvered him gently, shifting his legs until Jensen was straddling his lap, their chests nearly touching, and then held up a morsel of spicy meat for his mate to sample. “You have not eaten much,” he said.

“I have been worried about you,” Jensen replied, stretching that extra inch forward and up with his mouth to accept the bite. He took the time to chew and swallow before continuing, “You seem tense. I have not seen you this way since the attack in the laboratory.”  It took all his strength to vocalize the words so casually, but as stressed as the prince's posture and silence suggested that the prince was, Jensen had no desire to compound it.  He was seeking honesty and communication, so he offered his own in return, no mater how difficult it was to recount the event.

“It seems to have been a long day for us both,” Jared sighed, caressing the younger man’s flank. “I have missed our lessons. Hurry and eat so that we can enjoy our time together without me worrying further.”

Jensen took the hint and turned to pull his plate across the table. He did not bother to move from the prince’s lap, nor did the swell of Jared’s arousal beneath him escape his notice. It did surprise him, though, to realize that his presence alone brought some comfort to the prince.

“I cannot eat any more, Jared!” Jensen complained some time later, pushing the prince’s hand away when he tried to offer another tidbit. “Please do not ask it of me.”

Jared leaned back in his chair, and brought Jensen with him. “Okay, no more food. But you have questions that remain unanswered, do you not?”

Jensen nodded numbly. He had many, some he was not confident he knew how to ask.

“Would you like to sit here, or relax on the sofa and allow the Keepers to take the meal away?” Jared asked solicitously. “I mean if we are to be here long, we might be more comfortable on the soft cushions.”

Again, Jensen nodded his agreement, adding no useful commentary of his own as the Keepers had entered, completed their tasks, and departed for the evening.

Jared sat down near one end of the long sofa, spreading his legs wide and gesturing for Jensen to take his place between them.

Jensen joined the prince on the couch, but avoided the position the prince obviously wished him to assume. “I-I cannot ask you questions and make sense of the answers from...that close,” he tried to explain.

“Okay,” Jared said, pulling up straighter. “Perhaps later?” He asked with a raised brow and a leering grin.

Jensen lowered his head and bit his lip, scooting another few inches further away on the luxurious settee.

Jared used the demurral as an opportunity to give his mate a reprieve, and altered the conversation. “Did the general answer the question you asked of me in the Elite Council meeting this morn?”

“He did,” the younger man replied.  “Well, I guess I figured it out myself, but he explained how that answer came to be. But Jared, that answer created so many more questions, I hardly know where to begin. And you…you told me once,” he swallowed heavily; it was the first time he could remember asking anything of such importance of the prince. “You told me once that you would gladly share anything with me.”

Jared lunged forward and settled his hands on either side of his mate’s face, cradling it gently. He placed a soft, chaste kiss on Jensen’s lips. “I have nothing to hide from you,” he whispered, “What do you wish to know?”

Jensen gulped, opening his eyes slowly, only to find himself staring into the prince’s, and not even realizing he had closed his own. “Um,” he began, “There is so much. Perhaps if I could start with something simple, some questions about…about you, then I can begin to shape more complex questions in my mind.”

The prince sat back again, a grin playing on his lips. “I believe you must practice your diplomatic skills, my love,” he laughed, “For you either just referred to me as a simpleton or suggested that my life lacked complexity.”

“No!” Jensen exclaimed, sitting up straight, “I did not mean--”

“I know it was not your intent,” Jared continued, with a little less humor. “And I did not take it that way. I was simply pointing out that you might want to assess such issues more thoroughly in future situations. Not with me, that will never be a concern, but you have a new position to consider now, and you must make the necessary adjustments. Now, go ahead, ask me about my simple life.” He reached a hand over and patted Jensen’s thigh reassuringly before leaning back against the plush sofa.

“Okay,” Jensen started again, “I understand that your mother was quite ill when you were small, and had she not passed on to her next journey, she would have ruled Fayar after your grandfather passed, is that correct?”

Jared nodded in agreement, stopping before he completed the gesture.  "Hmm...yes and no.  She should have been queen, but because she did not take a Pershebian mate, did not complete her Journey, I was the designated heir, even from birth," he explained.  "However, she would have ruled in my stead until I reached my twenty-fifth ascension and returned with a...with you, just as the Leaders have done since my grandfather passed.  But if I had failed in my Journey, and she had lived, then yes, my mother would have ruled as Royal Regent until another Heir completed his or her Journey, and I would have assumed the role of Royal Regent if she passed before another Heir succeeded."

Jensen closed his eyes for a moment to fully comprehend.  He could feel his eyes dancing back and forth, pressing against his closed lids as he constructed a mental picture to simplify the prince's explanation.  His head wavered slightly when he was done, and then he surmised, “So, the rule of Fayar is by direct bloodline?”

“Yes,” Jared replied, “Does that seem strange to you?”

“Well, it did before I came here,” Jensen replied honestly. “Until I read some of these books and learned that there are other worlds governed the same way. But that is not my point. If it is by bloodline that Fayar is ruled, why are you the heir? Why would it not be your mother’s brother or sister? You told me of your cousin, Alona. Why does her parent not assume the throne, at least to rule as Royal Regent as you said?”

“Oh!” the prince exclaimed, wide-eyed, “Now I understand your line of questioning. You are amazing!” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Jensen’s lips, pulling away before the tingle had a chance to take effect, and Jensen found himself chasing the path across his lips with his tongue. “That is a very political question, certainly not a simple one. And one that I cannot answer in just a handful of words, I am afraid.

“The first part, why I am Heir, is the simplest to explain.  A direct bloodline is just that, my mother's child would rise to the throne before any of her siblings.  That is the simplest explanation, but there is so much more to it.  I have told you the story of my grandparents, I know. But I do not believe that I have told you how deeply my grandmother’s resentment went, or how steadfastly my grandfather stuck to his oath to never take her against her will after the Claiming.” Jared paused long enough to see Jensen shake his head negatively. “Well, my grandmother conceived the night of the Claiming, and my mother was born on my grandparent's mated return Journey. And upon their return, my grandfather was hailed as a great and virile king. But the Journey was not a time of bonding for them as it should have been. Instead of learning of each other, of language, of similarities and differences, of likes and dislikes, my grandmother spent her time in seclusion, and because of her condition, my grandfather allowed it.

“And even after their return, and as the years passed, nothing changed. My grandmother grew even angrier and more resentful. Despite my grandfather’s many indulgences, she shared only what part of her life she had to with my grandfather: my mother, Magre. But the time she spent alone with Magre was time spent teaching her daughter to resent much of what was expected of the Royals of Fayar. Magre, even as a child, refused to learn the languages of other worlds—other than her own mother’s Pershebian. She refused to learn to negotiate or to fight. She refused to learn any of the skills that would make her a leader, an advocate for the people, and still, my grandfather held out hope that she would take his place one day.

“But long before that, upon my grandfather's return from Pershebe, the Chief Ritualist took him aside and I have been told that they had a heated debate. According to my grandfather, even that early, the Ritualists believed that my grandmother would not help her daughter make wise decisions, and when my grandfather refused to separate mother from child, his only alternative was to sire another child, a child that would still be royal, even if ‘less royal’ than that of a mated pair. His refusal to claim my grandmother again, and the fear that she would poison the mind of her child—my mother—made that step necessary. There had to be another heir in case Magre refused to produce an heir of her own.

“So, while Alona is my cousin, her father is the child of my grandfather and a Fayarian-born woman. Alona is still considered a Royal, but she is second in line behind me, and would rule as Royal Regent rather than as queen.” Jared took a deep breath when he finished, looking up to see if Jensen was still following.

“And her father? He would have no claim to the throne?” Jensen asked.

“He might, if he still lived, and if I did not return to Fayar with you,” Jared replied honestly. “But he passed onto his next journey at a very young age. I believe Alona was just twelve at the time. None of that matters now, though. Once my claim upon you is verified by the Ritualists, there is no other in all of Fayar who could dispute my right to the throne.”

“So I am vital,” Jensen surmised.

Jared looked at him quizzically, “Have I ever suggested otherwise? That is not the issue here, however. Your role in my Investiture is already complete; I will become King of Fayar upon my return. But your importance to me, to Fayar, and to Pershebe is far greater than that. Do not discount yourself to such a miniscule role.” He leaned forward, reaching a hand out to gently caress Jensen’s cheek.  He ran his thumb across Jensen's cheekbone a handful of times before continuing. “What my grandparents shared was not a relationship. It was a claiming, cruel and harsh, as was our first.” His voice trembled as he fought for the right words, “But…”

Jensen pulled back suddenly, the emotion too strong with so many questions left to ask. “Forgive me, My Lord.” He reverted to formality to reshape their conversation. “I still have so much to learn. And while I appreciate your…your words, I have little time to prepare for what lies ahead.”

“Of course,” Jared agreed, letting his hand fall. “So, what else will aid your preparation?”

“Alona’s father was younger than your mother?” Jensen asked.

“Three years,” Jared agreed.

“And yet he has already passed onto his next journey as well?”

Jared looked at him strangely. “This seems an odd line of questioning, my love. Do you have a point?”

“Tell me about your mother.” Jensen quickly changed tactics. “The general tells me she was beautiful, even in her illness. What do you remember most about her?”

Jared sighed, and his head dropped. Jensen leaned forward and rubbed the prince’s shoulder softly. “I am sorry to bring back such sad memories for you,” he murmured, “I do have reasons to ask, I just cannot put all the pieces together without asking the difficult questions first.”

“If you touch me so lovingly for every question that you ask, I will gladly divulge my every childhood memory.”  The prince offered a half smile as he leaned into Jensen’s touch. “Where to start…my mother… ‘Magre, the beautiful.’ That is what the people of Fayar, and not just the planet, Fayar, but the entire realm, called her. She was eight feet tall, so the legends say, but I know different.” He stopped long enough to wink at Jensen. “I only know because long after she passed, and I was nearly grown, I would lay in her bed to remember her, and I could no longer fit. I am _not_ eight feet tall!”

“You _are_ tall,” Jensen interrupted.

“But not eight feet.”

“No, not eight feet,” Jensen agreed.

“She would struggle from her bed every year,” Jared’s voice grew softer, his words slower, “for my ascension. On my fourth, I expected it. It seemed right, like what every mother did. Like it was owed to me.  Even then, I wondered why it was my grandfather who helped to blow out my candles, and with just his one hand, helped to unwrap my gifts. But by my sixth, I dreaded the day of my birth. I knew that it meant she would summon what strength she had left to come down and celebrate, to pretend she would be there to see her son grow to be a man. Watching her stumble down those stairs…”

“Jared…” Jensen began, sneaking closer to the prince and straddling his lap, offering what support he could. “I do not need to--”

“Jeff held her by the arm, grinning like he was the consort who stood beside his princess despite everything,” Jared continued, his eyes glazed over. “I hated that birthday. She wore a close-fitted cap to hide her hair loss, and a loose dressing gown to conceal her skeletal frame.  Her hands shook so violently that I held a slice of my own ascension cake to her mouth so she could take a bite.  It was lemon, a tart, tangy fruit flavor that I hated, still hate, but it was her favorite and I wanted her to have something she loved.   All I wanted was for the party to end. I wanted to rip Jeff’s arm away from her, and I wanted to carry her back to her bed myself.  I cursed myself for being so small, so weak.  She should not have been up; she should not have come down for something as unimportant as my ascension.   She died, exactly three weeks after that day.

“And the only thing she hated more than the idea of me hurting a Pershebian, hurting _you_ ,” Jared focused his attention away from the memories of his six-year-old self and back on his mate for a moment, “Was having to hold onto Jeff’s arm for support.” Jared sighed, leaning back against the sofa, and rubbing Jensen’s back as if it was his only source of comfort. “She told me that she hated him. As she died, she said she loved me and that she hated him. How can that be?”

“I do not know,” Jensen whispered. He leaned in heavily, using all his weight and offering what physical support he could. “Even as she rebelled against everything else, why would she agree to such a union?”

“It is a question I have often asked myself,” Jared said. “I have asked the general his opinion as well, but he answers the same every time. He believes that whether or not she ever wanted to rule, she believed in Fayar, and wanted her lineage to continue.  He says that she wanted me.”

“Do you look like your mother?” Jensen asked, his face mere inches from the prince’s.

“I look at pictures, and it is hard for me to tell,” Jared admitted, “but most say that I do. Some say that I have many of my grandfather’s traits, and even some of my great-grandfather’s as well.”

“But not your father’s?” Jensen prodded.

“Well,” Jared considered, still caressing his mate tenderly, “He is tall, although not as tall as myself or my grandfather. But we share no facial features, if what the general tells me is true. It is hard for me to pinpoint myself.”

Jensen pulled back just a bit, and stared at the prince’s face. “What color are his eyes?”

“His eyes?” Jared was flummoxed by the question, “Brown, I think, but my grandfather also had brown eyes.”

“Hmm, and his hair?” Jensen continued.

“It is dark, darker than mine, but he has not quite so much of it as I do.”  Jared did his best to describe the things about Jeff that seemed the least important.

“Do you remember telling me that I am no longer Pershebian?” Jensen whispered as he nuzzled close to the prince’s ear.

Jared used his hands to pull his mate away from him just far enough to make eye contact. “I do,” he replied hesitantly.

“But you do not realize it, do you?” Jensen searched the prince’s face for his answer.

“Realize what?” Jared continued to eye him warily.

“I may no longer be Pershebian, because I am no longer accepted as one there…”

Jared leaned forward, ready to interrupt.

“Wait,” Jensen continued, “Let me finish. I may no longer be accepted there, and therefore no longer considered Pershebian. But do your realize Jared, that you are at least as Pershebian as you are Fayarian, perhaps even more so?”

Jared stared at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

Jensen ventured forward uncharacteristically, placing a whisper-soft kiss on the prince's lips before continuing. “If each generation of Royals is diluted by a new Pershebian mate, then each new heir is one-half Pershebian, plus whatever preexisting Pershebian blood runs through the veins of the royal who journeyed to Pershebe to claim that mate. So, with the exception of you—because your mother chose a mate from elsewhere, whether it was her choice or not—each generation of rulers on Fayar has become a purer and purer Pershebian line.”

Jared stared at his mate, stunned. It took a moment before he could respond, and then it was with a dimpled grin. “Then I guess we have more in common than I could possibly have hoped.”

Jensen smiled back at him and rubbed his cheek. “Now I have other questions. Tell me what you trade with Psaldrad…”

The conversation continued for some time. Jensen never took notes, but he made his way through every planet he and the general had discussed, with the exclusion of Laiguron, he already knew what benefit Fayar received from that tiny planet, and what Fayar offered in return.

“But with Delthestica so far away, does that not make its assistance nearly inconsequential?” He asked.

“Hardly,” Jared replied. “Our entourage is much slower than other conveyances might be. We are equipped for long distance travel and comfort, but if we needed to travel between Delthestica and Fayar, or even from Delthestica, across the Bands, and to Freyrusia quickly, those distances could be travelled in a matter of weeks, not months.”

“And Tsettel?” Jensen finally asked. He had saved this planet for last. “What benefit does Fayar receive from allying itself with Tsettel?”

Jared tensed this time. Typically, throughout their discussion, he had relaxed back against the sofa if a question was difficult or complex, and he needed time to think through his response. But this was something different.

“Nothing,” he whispered, “we gained nothing.”

“Then why do it?” Jensen asked innocently.

“I do not know,” Jared responded.  “Perhaps it was my grandfather’s last attempt to give his match meaning. Maybe he thought it would bring peace between our worlds.  But I have learned over the years that Tsettel does not seek peace.”

“What do they seek?”

“Our end,” Jared whispered.

“And Fredric, was he from Tsettel?” Jensen asked. It was a question that had plagued him for some time.  One he considered asking the general, but hesitated out of fear that it would remain unanswered.

“No,” Jared turned to face his mate squarely, “That is just it. He was from Psaldrad, but had all the best that Fayarian education could offer. I cannot guess what would lead him to follow such a course of action.”

Jensen reached up again, this time to smooth away the lines of worry that creased Jared’s brow. “I am okay,” he whispered. “How could I not be with you and 'Misha the Tyrant' hovering about me?”

Jared leaned closer, feeling the warmth of his mate upon his lap and trailing his tongue across the skin behind Jensen’s ear. “So, has the time of questioning come to an end?”

“F-for tonight, y-yes,” Jensen stammered.

“Then,” the prince began, “Do you really require a spanking as encouragement, or can I offer a more subtle gesture this eve?”

“More subtle?” Jensen turned his head to meet the older man’s eyes.

Jared moved a hand up to cup Jensen’s face, and placed a gentle, teasing kiss on his lips. And with the other, he brought his mate’s body close to his, snuggly fitting it against his groin. The heat, and the hardness could not be mistaken. He rocked them together and apart for a few moments, beginning an unmistakable rhythm.

Jensen moaned softly into the kiss and yielded his weight, allowing the prince to adjust his position as he chose. As the kiss ended, two strong hands moved to lift Jensen and place his knees between the prince’s legs, and then stroked slowly along the long length of Jensen’s thighs, hips, torso. When he reached Jensen’s shoulders, he grabbed hold, firmly but gently, and pushed the younger man down. “Is this subtle enough? Or do you need more…direction?” He asked without censure.

“I…do not know,” Jensen started, allowing himself to be guided to the ground between the prince’s legs. “I have never…”

“Mmm,” Jared mumbled, “You were my first, Jensen.  I had never before tasted a man upon my tongue. And you will be my _only_. If you want to touch me this eve, then I want you to, but if you do not, I will wait.”

“I want.”  Jensen found himself arguing.  “I just…Jared, tell me what to do. Please.”

Jared groaned. “Gods! What you do to me! There is nothing more that I could ask, than what you just offered. But know one thing.” He grabbed his mate’s chin and lifted it gently until their eyes met. “I will never again harm you. And while I will always hope that you will chose to offer yourself to me, if you deny me that right, then it is no longer mine. Tonight, I want your mouth. I want your lips wrapped around my cock, and I want to feel your tongue against it. I will not hurt you, I swear it. But please, give me this!”

Jensen did not use words, but fumbling fingers, to consent. He worked ineffectively at the prince’s pants, and his breaths grew shallow and fast.

“No, sweetheart,” Jared scolded, again cradling Jensen’s cheek in a huge hand. “If this is not what you want, then I do not want it either.”

“You have to tell me, Jared,” Jensen said, his tone nearly a whine. It took all his resolve to say the words.  He was unable to muster the courage to look up as he said them. “I need you to tell me what to do. I want to do it. Gods, I _want_! I just…”

“Undress me,” the prince commanded. He started on his own shirt, not wanting to waste time on the buttons at the wrists and neckline, and quickly pulled it over his head, but he waited patiently for Jensen to rid him of the rest.  After a moment’s hesitation on his mate’s part, followed by fumbling fingers at his waistline, Jared reached down to redirect Jensen’s hands. “Boots first, love. It is easier that way.”

Jensen did not hesitate to follow the suggestion. He unlaced the ties easily. This far removed from the core of the prince’s allure, he was able to maintain a bit more control. Once that task was complete, he moved up again, concentrating on the fabric that emphasized Jared’s arousal and the row of tiny buttons that kept it concealed. Jensen trembled slightly just as the prince leaned forward, quickly ripping the cloth from his mate’s chest.

He glanced up to protest, he had already changed into his nighttime attire and the top would have slipped easily over his head, but the gleam in the prince’s eyes made him turn back to his project and push buttons through holes as quickly as he could.

Once Jensen completed his task, Jared lifted his hips and allowed the fabric to fall about his ankles. With his boots removed, it was easy to kick free of the material.

Jensen sat back on his heels, staring. It was the first time…

A hand caressed his cheek and wrapped around his neck, gently pulling him forward. “Only if you want to,” the prince whispered.

Jensen huffed out a breath and licked his lips.

“Gods!” Jared exclaimed, “If you expect me to let you go, do not do that!”

Again, Jensen looked up at him, a mixture of passion and confusion in his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “I want. I just…do not know... Please—”

The pleading turned into a near whine, and it left Jared lost for anything to do but guide his mate forward. “Lick it,” he whispered. “Just the tip.”

Jensen flicked his tongue forward hesitantly once, and then more confidently after that.

Jared groaned. “Yes! Just like that! Lick it, suck it, my love. Anything you do, I will love.” He stopped for a moment, and held Jensen’s head still until the younger man looked up shyly, his tongue still bathing the prince’s crown. “Just no teeth, please.”

Jensen pulled back for a moment and lowered his eyes, but nodded just to let the prince know he had heard. He placed a hand on each of Jared’s thighs to steady himself, and returned to his task—except it no longer seemed like a task to him. It was not a chore, and he was not trying to prove himself. He wanted to do this.  He took a deep breath and his lungs filled with the prince’s scent.  He moaned as he exhaled. He did not need to touch Jared’s flesh again to know the prince approved, the corresponding groan was encouragement enough.

He opened his mouth and welcomed the prince in--slowly, reverently, bathing the prince’s cock with his lips and tongue. It felt heavy and reassuring in his mouth. Jared seemed to be holding himself as stiff as a board, and it made little sense to his younger mate. Jensen remembered, he remembered how much he wanted to thrust forward, just with the heat of the prince’s mouth around his flesh. He licked around the head one last time and locked his lips around Jared’s hard cock, and sucking as he drew it in. The second it hit the back of his throat Jensen started to cough and sputter, pulling off immediately.

“S-sorry,” he gasped.

“Shhh!” Jared whispered, his voice so husky, Jensen barely recognized it. “Your hand, use your hand.”

Jensen started to object. He had done that before, he was kneeling between Jared’s legs and he wanted this to be different, to be special. But as the prince guided one of his hands to the base of his cock, he gently guided Jensen’s mouth back to the crown with the other, and the young Pershebian gladly accepted it. Jared was giving him exactly what he had asked for.

“That’s it,” Jared praised, his hand intertwined with Jensen’s, as he matched the rhythm of his mouth on the rest of Jared’s shaft. He did his best to fit what he could in his mouth, offering as much of a wet, warm channel as he could for the prince to thrust into.

But Jared continued hesitantly, like he was gauging Jensen’s limit, afraid to go too deep, too fast. Jensen held his mouth in place, looking up as he did so. And the look in the prince’s eyes was so…it was so…worried, so concerned, so compassionate, that Jensen just groaned and let go. He dropped his grip around Jared’s shaft, despite the prince’s hold, and soon found comfort as Jared’s hands reached for his face. Without knowing why, or how he knew to do so, Jensen angled his chin up, and on the prince’s next thrust forward, he found himself reaching around to hold onto Jared’s ass, swallowing hard at the same time.

Jared jerked forward and then back. “Again,” he gasped, thrusting insistently.

It was an easier command to follow than Jensen expected. Even with tears welling in his eyes, not because he was in pain, but more from some base physiologic response he was just beginning to understand as his own cock swelled and throbbed against the loose fabric of his sleep pants, he swallowed hard again as Jared pushed insistently against the back of his throat and slipped farther down.

“Gods!” The prince exclaimed. He kept up the pace, thrusting forward, pulling back to allow his mate a chance to breathe, and then thrusting forward once more. “Again,” he repeated, this time slipping a hand around and holding the back of Jensen’s head nearly long enough to make the younger man panic. At that moment, Jared pulled back, grabbing the base of his cock even as he kept the head in Jensen’s mouth, and groaned in satisfaction as it pulsed and throbbed, finally giving up his come and painting Jensen’s tongue with it.

Jared watched closely, panting as he recovered, but hoping the entire time that the experience was not more than Jensen had wanted. They both seemed to want it when they began.

He slumped back against the couch, and watched Jensen lick the come from his lips. Jared caught his mate’s gaze and started to pull him up. “Mmm,” he mumbled, half-asleep, “Your turn.”

“I am good, Jared,” Jensen nuzzled against the prince’s neck, his voice just a whisper shy of fucked-out, and if Jared was not so damn tired… “But you are beyond exhausted. Believe me when I tell you that I enjoyed that as much as you did. And allow me to take care of you, just this once.”

“Just this once,” the prince agreed, as Jensen guided him to the bed. “I had meant to speak with you tonight…”

This time it was the Pershebian who slowly, reverently, cleansed the skin of his mate, and tucked him beneath the bedding. Jensen placed the cloth on the floor by the bed, and snuggled in next to his mate, not at all disturbed by the bulge between his legs. It felt good right now.

He listened as the prince’s breathing changed, and felt as his grip loosened around Jensen’s waist. And when that happened, Jensen inched toward that nightstand as he had a few weeks ago, and pulled it open. The box was still there, undisturbed.

Jared wanted to talk to him. They would do so in the morn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and leaving the lovely comments and kudos. I am going to assume for now that the glossary isn't that important to anyone, so I won't post it. But if someone wants me to, just let me know.
> 
> You are wonderful! ♥


	5. Chapter 5

“What?!” Pileggi roared. “I have spent half the night awake, monitoring teams extracting your precious Nabbotium from the _Fineer_ and ensuring that my vessel remained intact and capable of space travel in the aftermath of that ruthless violation.  And now you are telling me that our meeting cannot begin because the prince has decided not to leave the comfort of his consort’s arms yet this morn?”

General Beaver rose to his feet and crossed the room in seconds. Before the commander realized what was happening, Pileggi was on his knees and his face was pushed into the ground, the general’s knee digging into that trigger point right between his shoulder blades.

“Major Parrack,” Beaver hissed, “Cuffs, now!”

The major scrambled to comply, and once the commander was securely confined, the younger officer pulled him back upright, and guided him carefully back into his chair.

“Are you listening now?” The general growled, not focusing his attention solely on Commander Pileggi, but allowing his glare to track the occupants of the entire room. When all remained silent, tilting their heads in acquiescence, he nodded his own once, and returned his attention to the restrained commander.  “Good. Because I just want to make sure we all understand what just happened here. What you just said? Those words? They were treasonous. Or at the very least, they would be viewed as inciting treason.”

“No!” Pileggi interrupted.

“Not a word!” Beaver ordered, and the commander immediately ceased his objection. “I am not accusing you, I am _telling_ you. You don’t remember the wars, or what it was like to follow a strong leader.” He stopped when he saw Pileggi shake his head. “Oh, I know you were in the military during King Terence’s reign, but you did not serve closely under him like you now serve under his grandson. And you never knew what it was like to serve under King Richard, the last ruler to be part of a truly mated pair. So I am telling you now, that if the prince needs time to sort things out with his mate, then it is time that will benefit us all.”

After several silent moments, Commander Rhodes, of the fleet vessel _Gratius_ , looked from the general to the recalcitrant, but awkwardly repentant Pileggi, and spoke up, “So, do we break until further notice, or do we sit here and watch Commander Pileggi squirm all day?”

With that, the Elite Council broke out in laughter, all save the target of the joke, and the general approached him once again. “What is your decision?” Beaver asked.

“I do not know the question,” Pileggi growled.

“Does the prince have your allegiance?” General Beaver replied, his hand on the cuffs, ready to loose them, or not, depending on the response.

“He always has,” Pileggi continued.

After removing the cuffs and tossing them back to the major, General Beaver returned to his seat. “It is good to know. I believe we will all need the support of one another soon enough.”

The commander rubbed his wrists once they were free. “I may not always agree with him, and when I do not, I will always tell him so. I hope that does not mean I will spend the rest of my life in prison.”

 

___________________

 

As soon as he woke, the prince opened the Comm and contacted the General. Jared suspected he barely caught the older man before he made his way to the council meeting. It had not been his intention to be late, but clearly he and Jensen were more exhausted than either realized—they had both slept through the delivery of the morning meal. And looking down, Jared could see that his mate was likely to sleep even longer if he allowed it.

That was not possible though. They did have to meet with the Elite Council today, and he did need to reveal his decision to use the elixir on the prisoner before that meeting occurred. As it stood now, of the council members, only he, the general, and Jensen knew of its existence. And the more Jared thought about it, he found that he could not, in good conscience, lay out his plan for the council without first explaining his decision to his mate. This was a discussion, possibly a confrontation, he had already postponed for far too long.

“Jensen,” he whispered, gently shaking the younger man’s shoulder. “We are already late, and we must talk before we head to the meeting this morn.” He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle his lover, but instead rouse him from slumber and toward what was certain to be an unsettling day, with nothing more than a gentle nudge and a soft tone.

“Hmm?” Jensen mumbled, turning toward the prince’s voice and blinking. “Oh, it is late.” He scrambled out of bed and rushed toward the closet as his mumbling continued, “We c'n eat on the way.”

“No, Jensen,” Jared commanded, grabbing his mate’s shoulder firmly. “Sit on the sofa. We must talk, and the meeting will have to be delayed until we do.” He belted a robe around his waist and headed toward the door without waiting to see if Jensen was following his order.

Jensen backed up toward the couch, keeping a wary eye on the prince. “They did not last time.”

“They did not _what_ last time?” Jared asked over his shoulder. The door slid open and he whispered to the three waiting guardsmen before Jensen responded. _Elder_ nodded in reply, and the door slid closed again.

“Wait,” Jensen clarified. “The last time we were late, they did not wait.”

“This time is different. I contacted the general, he will ensure that the meeting is postponed until our arrival.”

Jensen looked up quickly as the prince approached. “So this is a matter of such importance that you have already plotted with the general in regards to it?”

Jared huffed out a feeble laugh as he dropped down next to his mate. “It is that important. Perhaps not in the way you believe, though. It is not about you, my love. But I fear you may not completely understand my plan, and I think it is important for us to be…unified in this, when we bring it to the council.”

Jensen stared at the prince, trying to see something there. Trying to read something in his expression, or between his words, but none of it made sense. Jared’s head dipped low, and he was rubbing his hands together between his wide-spread knees. He sat _by_ Jensen, but he was not touching Jensen, and he did not even turn to face him. There was nothing of the prince’s usual confident body language here, this morn.

After a moment’s silence, which the prince seemed unwilling to break, all Jensen could do was venture a guess. “You want to tell me something of your plan ahead of time, so that when you explain it to the council, I can smile and say what a splendid idea it is and how brilliant you are for thinking of it? Do you really need me for that?”

“No,” Jared replied, again with what Jensen thought was another failed attempt at laughter. He rubbed his hands together with more fervor before slowly turning his head toward his mate, like it took more effort than merely the motion. “But it might help to hear of it beforehand so that you do not attempt to kill me in the Center. That would not end well for either of us, I believe.”

It was at that moment Jensen realized it had not been an attempt at laughter he had heard in Jared’s tone, but an attempt to mask the tremor in his voice and the unease in his expression. The prince’s eyes glistened as he stared at his mate, and he reached for Jensen’s hand.

Jensen held it out without question, waiting for more. “Jared?”

“You remember the council debate about the prisoner and potential enemies?” Jared asked.

“Of course,” Jensen continued to search the prince’s face for clues. “It was quite heated.”

“There is but one way to question the prisoner, and know that the answers he provides are indeed true.” Jared breathed deeply, squeezing Jensen’s hand as he said the words. “You may not like it, but you must agree. Your elixir _is_ the only way.”

“No!” Jensen exclaimed, rising from the sofa. “I will not use it for coercion. Never, never on an unwilling—”

“That burden will not be on you, Jensen,” Jared interrupted, already heading for his closet to dress. His robe dropped in a heap at his feet.  Jensen followed, mimicking the prince’s actions, but still clad in his sleep pants and shirt, it took him longer to change. Once dressed, Jared finished his thought, “You will not be using it, I will.”

“No,” Jensen repeated.  He pulled his pants on in a hurry.  “I will not allow it.  My scientific studies are to seek knowledge. Not for, for…this!”

Jared waited a few moments, waited until his mate had finished dressing, and then turned to face him. The prince grabbed Jensen’s arms, one huge hand encircling each biceps, and looked at him sternly. “What is knowledge without purpose? Without use? What did it do for Pershebe in the past?”

“That is not fair!” Jensen yelled, struggling to pull away.

“That is precisely my point! It is not my goal to incite you, Jensen.” He tightened his grip on his mate just enough to make sure Jensen knew he had no intention of letting go. “You are a thinker, a great one, and I am merely a warrior. So I am asking you to think now. What good did all the knowledge do for Pershebe before King Julian arrived?”  He paused a moment to let the weight of the question sink in.  “Nothing, Jen, it did nothing.  Warships were circling Pershebe, preparing to enslave the population and strip the planet of all its resources, and all that priceless knowledge sat gathering dust on shelves.”

As Jensen let out a breath, Jared let go with one hand and reached to the table closest to them, secure in the belief that his mate would not bolt in that moment. He grabbed a book and tossed it on the floor at Jensen’s feet, and then reached for another, doing the same. “Without practical application, all this knowledge is pointless. Your wonderful elixir becomes useless. This is war, Jen. And while I will agree to adhere to predetermined rules of engagement as I would in any battle situation, if that will ease your mind, I will not agree to set aside a weapon that could save countless lives just to protect your scientific pride.”

Jensen backed away slowly, looking up only after he was several feet from the prince. “It does not work that way, Jared. Some things simply cannot be done.” His voice, though barely more than a whisper, held more strength than Jared expected.

“Who decides?” The prince demanded. “ _You_? Do you get to decide that this prisoner’s right to conceal his own deceit is more important than the lives that will be sacrificed if we allow him to do so? Are you willing to take that responsibility?”

“I do not have to,” Jensen continued. “If there was no elixir here, you would not be able to use it. So use whatever techniques you had before. My elixir is not an option.”

This time the prince did laugh, one eyebrow quirked up. “Oh really? It does not work that way. You cannot _undiscover_ it. It is here, and I will use it. I am not asking you, Jensen. I am informing you. I thought it would be easier to hear from me, here in our quarters, than to hear in the Center during the meeting.”

“No.” Jensen shook his head, his feet slowly shuffling back until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down heavily. His eyes darted around, looking for what must have pushed him. He tried to remain sitting, but the room swirled and tilted, until sliding to the floor seemed the simplest option. “No, no, no!” He cried out, covering his face with his hands.

“Shh, shh.” Jared scrambled toward his mate and crouched at his side.  He cooed softly, and tried to calm Jensen down. He gently caressed along the length of his distraught mate’s arm, and then kissed the top of his head. “Okay, then give me another option. Tell me, what else can I do?”

Jensen looked up into the prince’s eyes, and he saw concern there, perhaps even hesitance. An idea struck him.  It was perfect.  Eliminate the option, and this battle was over. This was not a fight the prince wanted, it was a fight he had to have, but without… Jensen jumped to his feet, pushed past the prince, and ran for the door. After years of drills, he was used to practicing his steps. He could get to the laboratory using ten different routes—whether the corridors were bright or dark. He could get there before Jared could stop him. He would destroy the elixir and save the prince from the weight of this decision.

The doors slid open upon his scan and he ran past the startled guardsmen before they could do more than stare after him. There were but three guardsmen, and he knew at least ten different paths—he could do it.

“Stop him!” Jared bellowed.

And before he had taken fifty paces down the quickest route to the lab, he found himself tackled to the floor by the very same _Fighter_ who had protected him more than once, and proffered his life-long loyalty. “Sorry,” the guardsman whispered in his ear as Jared approached.

“Are you done?” The Heir demanded, this time speaking in rapid Pershebian, all tenderness in his tone gone. “They treasure you, you know, and they _are_ loyal, but their allegiance must first be to me. You are being unfair to them if you ask them to choose between us.” _Fighter_ moved away quickly, and Jared helped his mate to his feet. “Can we go now?”

Jensen looked at the downcast faces of the men who followed his every move about the ship, the three guardsmen who had _asked_ to be punished for someone else’s crime.  He did feel a bit of remorse for pulling them into this situation. But he was no more to blame than was the prince. To Jared, he merely nodded.

 

_____________________

 

The morn had begun so perfectly.

Misha rose early, and tended the tiny trees he had planted. A smile crossed his face remembering that day so many weeks ago when Jensen had started to help with this particular plot. No one had ever grown _turona_ trees on a space vessel, not even a vessel meant for long-term inhabitants. And his little trees were nearly a foot tall already. If they continued to develop, they would provide an abundant supply of fruit that was not only rich in nutrients, but rich in flavor as well. Misha would be the first to do it. He was excited.

He took a break for the morning meal after cleaning out the plot and sprinkling some water on his saplings, and that was when that first not-so-good feeling hit him. It rippled underneath his skin and caused him to draw in a sharp breath. His bread fell from his fingers. The sensation was brief and not overly strong; not so strong as to startle him or cause him to alert others, but it was enough to make him wary. He ate the rest of his meal quickly, and tried to return to his plants. But the morn was suddenly not so perfect.

Misha decided to remain seated for a while after that, waiting. He was not anticipating more, certainly though, if something more were to occur, it would likely occur soon. And his instincts were right. He jumped up, running a few steps toward the door before some unseen force slammed him, face-first, into the dirt. But then it was over again. He got up, dusted off his pants and returned to his perch.

He tried to Comm the prince first, as he had been instructed to do, and then the general. Neither answered. And then the feeling was gone, so whatever had happened, it was over.

Jensen was unharmed and in no danger, Misha could tell if he were, so the agrician did his best to return to work.

He was raking, smoothing out dirt and breaking up clods in another plot, his skin still not quite right, and his breath not settled, when he dropped everything and screamed out, “No, Jensen!”

And he knew. He _knew_! And he was closer. He ran from the agritory as fast as he could run, remembering that for a moment, very early that morn, today had seemed so perfect.

 

______________________

 

He waited. He followed docilely behind the prince, calculating every step and every turn. He kept his head low so that it looked like he had accepted Jared’s command, but that was not what he was doing. It was far simpler than that, or perhaps far more complicated.

Geometry.

Well, geometry and deduction. And maybe even a bit of subterfuge. It would only work if they all thought he was following meekly along like the whipped little puppy that had lain sprawled out in the corridor, beneath _Fighter_ , waiting for the Heir to come and collect him.

So he concentrated on keeping his head down and his steps sluggish, even as he plotted.

A shuttle arrived, and when they stepped off, they entered another corridor, the only one that could access the Center. Jensen’s mind was whirling, and no one seemed to notice. That was all the better.

They stood waiting for the second shuttle, the one that would take them directly to the Center. Jensen took a half-step back—that was non-threatening, he was sure—just as he heard the chime for the level beneath. He had a plan. It was all in the timing, just like the drills.

Five people stepped aboard the shuttle, but the arrangement was just slightly askew. A split-second here, a split-second there, was all it took to change the configuration, and a moment before the doors slid shut, Jensen turned to face outward. It was the first time he could see the corridor they had left so clearly—no one was blocking his view.

He closed his eyes, because eyes could deceive you, and waited for the chime on the level above them. That was his signal. He darted out at that moment, and even as he heard the prince shout out, the closing door muffled the sound.

The race was on. This part really was all geometry. And to get to the laboratory? Jensen knew all the best angles.

 

____________________

 

Misha stood his ground. It was easy right now, even though he felt the speeding pulse and the rapid breaths, he knew they were not his own. He was just down the corridor from the laboratory when he felt Jensen make his move, so Misha was…prepared.

It was at that very moment that the Chosen came skidding around the bend in the passageway, grabbing onto the ship’s hull as he made the turn. There were no loud shouts following him, no loud footfalls crashing behind him. It was just him—just Jensen—and Misha, standing in the hallway where they had met so many times before.

“Misha, move!  Get out of my way” Jensen hollered, not even shortening his stride as he approached.

“No,” Misha replied softly, but quite adamantly. “I cannot let you do this, Jensen. Not without thinking it through.”

The Pershebian came to a halt just feet from the agrician, and drew his gaze up to stare directly at Misha. “Gods!” Jensen winced. The pain in his expression alone nearly had Misha moving from his position. “Even you? Even you would choose the prince, no matter how faulty his logic, over me?”

Misha did inch closer to the Chosen with that. “I am not choosing, Jensen. I do not even know what the choices are. All I can sense is the turmoil within you, and you are not in your right mind. You should not decide anything, not right now.”

“I do not have time! Any minute, they will come around this corner, or that one over there, and then it will be too late!” Jensen exclaimed, pointing wildly down the long corridor, before turning to gesture down the shorter one. “Do you not understand? There is no decision to make. If I do not destroy the elixir, it will destroy him!”

“Destroy who?” Misha asked raising a hand to Jensen’s shoulder and offering what comfort he could. “Tell me now, and I promise not to stand between you and this door when they arrive.”

“The prince,” Jensen admitted. “If he uses the elixir on the prisoner…. That much power, that much control over others—it is too much for one person. No one can have that. No one should.”

“But you did,” Misha replied simply. “You used it, did you not?”

Jensen drew in a sharp breath. He had not told anyone, not even the agrician. But it made sense that Misha knew, in the same strange way that it made sense that Misha reached the laboratory before him.

“And you survived,” Misha continued, as if Jensen had answered his question outright. “The prince has much power, and while you may not agree with me, I have not seen him abuse it.”

“But—”

“There are evil people out there, Jensen,” Misha continued softly, “People with such powerful and violent ambitions. People who would sooner destroy us than find ways to work together in peace.  I think that the best we can hope for is that your elixir is used by someone with as much character and strength as our prince.”

Jensen dropped to his knees—his hands resting helplessly on his thighs, and silent tears streaking down his cheeks.

Misha knelt at his side. “Sometimes the most difficult decision to make is to not be the one to decide,” he whispered. The last word was nearly lost as the clatter of boots on the metal corridor grew louder and louder.

“Jensen,” the prince cried out when he reached them. He dropped to his knees behind his mate and placed his hands softly on Jensen’s shoulders. “Gods! What were you thinking?”  The words were barely more than a whisper.

Jensen remained silent, and Misha used the opportunity as best he could. “If I may say, My Lord, I do not believe he was thinking at all. He seems to have been reacting on impulse alone. Trying to run _to_ something for once, instead of running away.”

“You have no reason to run, my love,” Jared whispered in his ear. He lifted a finger to Jensen’s cheek and wiped away the trail before placing a soft kiss on his shoulder. “Go back to our rooms. I will return for the evening meal.”

Misha sat back as Jared helped his silent mate to his feet, explained to the guardsmen what he expected of them, and watched as they started to walk away.

It warmed Misha’s heart when he heard Richard’s respectful words spoken to the Chosen in a gentle tone, “This way, My Lord.”

Jensen turned back to where Misha and Jared remained before they were out of sight; he drew up to his full height with his shoulders squared. Some of his strength seemed to have returned. “If you use it, tell no one. You will lose your advantage completely. But I will not be complicit in this, nor will I accept credit for what you label as a victory in war.” He turned the corner before the prince could reply.

_____________________

 

Jared started his trek to the Center. It would not take long to get there, but he had no desire to arrive before the Elite Council, so instead, he chose a short diversion to the small library that provided solace so often.

It seemed strange, taking Jensen’s advice, at least to some degree, but when he Comm’d the general, it also seemed right. This meeting would be shorter, with only one topic to discuss, and it would be smaller. Only the seven vessel commanders, the general, and himself would be there. He had hoped to include his mate, but it was clear from Jensen’s departing words, that the younger man wanted no part in this. So this would be a meeting of nine.

The other council members would question his decision tomorrow, but that would be after the decision had been made and answers uncovered. And that was the important part, was it not? To find the answers.

His Comm chimed twice, letting him know that the council was convened without requiring a response, and Jared left his sanctuary with at least a bit more life in his step.

***

“I have a method,” Jared began. It felt odd, taking credit for his mate’s hard work, but Jensen had made his preference clear. “A way to extract information from the prisoner without physical injury or mental anguish. And I assure you that it is tested and reliable.”

Pileggi was the first to respond. “What does that mean?” 

That did not surprise the prince in the least. In fact, the commander’s reserved demeanor when Jared first entered the room was more of a surprise.

“It is a serum,” Jared continued, “One that will extract the truth from our prisoner without a doubt. Its veracity has been proven to me personally.”

“Then why have we not already used it?” Commander Rhodes chimed in, “And why are we just now learning of it?”

Jared looked around the room. “Do you see all of the empty seats?” He asked. “This is something that must remain among the nine of us. The serum has just recently proved itself, and I had no desire to bring it up before that occurred. And it is just the nine of us because I know that either the general or myself selected each of you for this journey. We both knew, as did you, that this was more than a journey to find a mate, and that upon our return, it would be a journey to reclaim our realm. I value your opinions, your experience, and your loyalty.  And that is why I am here now, explaining how this elixir works, and requesting some guidelines from you.”

All heads were already turned in his direction, so the only things that indicated surprise were the opened mouths and raised eyebrows.

“Guidelines for interrogation,” he explained. “We cannot have a free-for-all with a person who could potentially be considered a ‘prisoner of war.’ We must conduct ourselves as we would in any battle, any interrogation.” He looked around the room to see most heads nodding in agreement. “We here, the nine of us, are all that lie between Tsettel and the Fayarian Empire. We must not behave as they would.”

“So, I take it that your mate does not agree,” Pileggi interrupted. When all turned toward him, he shrugged, “What? It is not a smear; it is a mere statement of fact. The Chosen is not here, so either he does not agree with this strategy, or the Heir does not trust him any more than he trusts the loyal members of this council who normally occupy those vacant chairs. Which is it, My Lord?”

Jared rose from his seat, slamming his hands on the table. “It is no matter for this discussion. We are here to discuss guidelines, strategies and techniques. I will not discuss my mate and his presence in this room with you!”

Pileggi stood as well.  He plodded on, “We need to know where his loyalty lies—”

“Enough!” The general commanded. “I have worked with the Chosen for some time now, and you will take it on my word that his loyalty is to the prince. There are _ten_ that now stand between Tsettel and the realm, and we are fortunate to count him as one of us. There will be no more discussion about it!”

“As you say,” Pileggi smirked, adding a half-bow before returning to his seat. “So now, it is guidelines you want. We should begin by reviewing the general rules for interrogation…”

 

_______________________

 

“Gods!” Jared exclaimed, slapping the general’s hand away from his bandaged face. It was bad enough having the Mender and her assistant hovering over him, and then waiting around in the sterile, white room until they released him; he had no desire for the general’s added attention. “The Mender said it will heal just fine. Have the arrests started?”

“No,” Beaver shook his head. “Commander Pileggi, Major Parrack and I met briefly after you…met with the prisoner—”

“Interrogated,” Jared interrupted. “You can say the word.”

“Alright!” The general exclaimed. “We met after you _interrogated_ the prisoner and wound up here.  And we decided it was best to prepare multile teams for simultaneous arrests. It would serve no purpose to have rumors spread before all who were implicated had been apprehended.”

Jared nodded his agreement. “Do you have enough teams assembled?”

“I believe so. We are fortunate, I think, that neither you nor I considered a Tsettellite for this journey. If we had, they may have infiltrated far deeper into our crew by now.  They are masters at deceit and manipulation, as you well know.  As it is, we stand a good chance of arresting all whom Tracy named without any of them being forewarned.”

“Would it benefit the mission to use Jensen’s escort guardsmen?” Jared asked, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the dressing on his cheek. Already the wound was getting itchy. “I will return to our quarters following the afternoon council meeting and dismiss them when I arrive. And after the events of this morn, I am sure it will do their spirits good to be involved.”

“We could use another team, and I know them to be well-trained,” the general mused. “But they will need to be briefed in advance. “I assume they will allow me within a parsec of the Chosen for such a briefing, if I promise to do him no harm.”

Jared grinned at the thought, and then shook his head. “I doubt they will let you in. I am not certain they will let _me_ in.” He laughed for a moment. “If you had seen the look Charles gave me once he had tackled Jensen to the ground, you would understand. But I do believe you have enough clout to command them…as long as you remain _outside_ that door!”

 

______________________

 

Jensen paced what was left of his morning away. By the time the Keepers brought the midday meal, he was growling and snarling, and even those kind ladies ran from the room whimpering. Jensen felt bad for a moment, but then he remembered what had happened, how he had failed, and he flung a hand out across the table and food splattered across the room.

By the time the Keepers returned to retrieve the dishes, he had settled down enough to be ashamed of his behavior, but not enough to apologize. Instead, he ducked into the bath moments before they entered, hoping to miss any confrontation at all. They had not earned his anger, and they certainly did not deserve to have to clean up after his tantrum. Jensen settled into the bath and forced himself to listen as they painstakingly picked up every shard of broken glass and scrubbed food off of every surface it had landed upon. It was not an act for which he was proud.

The afternoon passed at a pace slower than the _turona_ trees in the agritory grew. Pacing had become a monotonous chore, and failed to distract Jensen from the churning in his belly. He had missed the morning meal in his haste to derail the prince’s plan, and missed the midday meal in the fiery glow of his anger and self-righteousness. There was little left for him to do now but stare into space and wait—for the prince or for food, whichever came first. He certainly was in no mood to open a book and study. What good had that done him thus far?

He plopped down on the sofa and pushed his hair away from his face. It was only weeks ago that he wore it long, and it already seemed to be in his way again. His toes touched one of the books Jared had dropped on the floor earlier and he glanced down. It was not one of the Pershebian texts, or even a Pershebian text translated into Fayarian. It was the book the general had given him on the day they first met for lessons.

Jensen picked it up and skimmed through enough of it until he found his spot. It was the only Fayarian written book he had, and it intrigued him. General Beaver told him it was old, perhaps not as old as the ancient texts, but older than the general himself. And once he settled in, Jensen found himself once again lost in the words the Ritualists had written many generations ago about a bond so strong that it could only be created when worlds collided.

 

______________________

 

“Go,” Jared whispered to the three loyal men when he returned to his quarters. “We will be fine. Do your duty.”

Steven nodded, and the three departed solemnly. The prince knew they were ready for a fight, had probably been bristling for one all day. This would be a good release for them, even if whomever they ended up arresting was not their optimal target at the moment.

With their departure, he took a breath and squared his shoulders before allowing the door to slide open. He leaned heavily on the wall. He was unsure of what he expected to see, but discovering Jensen on the couch, curled around a book, was not it.

“Jared!” Jensen exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “What happened to you?”

The prince reflexively lifted a hand to his face and then pulled it away just as quickly. “It is nothing. I am afraid in my discussion with our prisoner, I forgot one thing.”

Jensen was at his side before he could say another word, touching the bandage gently, and pulling at the edge to peek beneath. “What one thing?” He asked distractedly.

“That honesty does not always coincide with docility,” Jared admitted. He had made his way to the couch and collapsed onto it. “Our prisoner answered my questions without fail, but was more than happy to take the stylus I was writing with to my face.”

“Let me see!” Jensen sank down beside him, continuing his quest to peel the bandage away.

“It is nothing. The Mender said all evidence of it will be gone within weeks,” Jared explained. “Actually, I hate to admit that I allowed an enemy so close. It would never have happened in battle.”

“But this was not a battle, My Lord,” Jensen whispered, his fingers trembling with the task. Jared did not stop him, it seemed too important to his mate.

“No, it was much more important.” He allowed his hand to touch Jensen’s, just enough to weigh his mate’s response. When there was no outward sign that the younger man was repulsed, Jared continued. “We found seventeen traitors amongst us today, my love. Even one who sat on the Elite Council.”

Jensen’s gasp gave the prince enough time to gather his thoughts again.

“I gave him a choice, my love,” Jared whispered, turning his head so that his lips touched Jensen’s hand. “You were right. And I did listen to you, even if you do not believe that I did.”

The bandage was in Jensen’s hand, and the Pershebian was busy inspecting Jared’s wound. “Hmm?”

“The prisoner. I gave him the choice between your elixir and an interview with Commander Pileggi.” Jared actually grinned as he spoke. “I told him that if Fredric had truly duped him, as he had claimed, and that he had no true interest in ‘The Cause,’ he could take the elixir and walk away a free man after our interview.”

Jensen did not speak when Jared paused; instead, he crossed to the bath and returned with a cloth and a handful of supplies.

“Am I boring you?” Jared asked, staring in fascination at his mate.

“No,” Jensen assured, “I am listening. Do you think I am capable of only one task at a time?”

“No.  I am well convinced otherwise.”  Jared laughed outright this time.

“Do not laugh!” Jensen scolded. “You will make it bleed more.” He was daubing something cool and stinging along Jared’s cheek, and as it neared his eye, it made it water.

“Stop,” Jared warned, pulling his mate’s hand away. “I fear you might try to blind me with that.”

Jensen drew back, “I would never—”

“No, no,” Jared mumbled, “I did not mean…there was no thought of malicious intent behind my words. They were harmless, but that solution in your hand is not.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jensen mumbled, “I was just concerned.”

“Thank you,” the prince replied honestly. “Now put it down, and let us talk. I thought you would like to know that the prisoner had a choice. And that, even knowing that Commander Pileggi would be bound by the rules of interrogation, he chose your elixir. It seems the members of ‘The Cause’ have underestimated your abilities, Jen.”

Jensen settled in beside the prince, and enjoyed the warmth. “You gave him a choice?” He asked.

The prince nodded in assent.

“A reasonable option?” Jensen prodded.

“More than reasonable,” Jared assured him. “It was the kindest interrogation one could hope for, Jensen. The vessel commanders, the general and myself met ahead of time to delineate guidelines. I needed their recommendations, but still kept the elixir from general knowledge. I would have liked you to have been there.”

“I could not be,” Jensen tried to explain. “Whether you were right or wrong to use it, I just could not—”

“Shh, I understand,” Jared stopped him. “But the next time something this important arises, I would like to share it with you. Today we found seventeen traitors, who knows, they may even lead to more. We also chose the crewmembers most likely to contact Delthestica and Freyrusia, if we find no new traitors before the designated day. Those were difficult decisions to make, decisions that I have always known would ultimately be mine. But until I met you, I never realized that I would prefer to have someone else’s council before I made them.”

“You did not need me,” Jensen started.

“I did,” Jared insisted.  “Even without you there, I needed you. I took your advice and I used your elixir. How much more heavily could I have relied upon you?”

“You could have not used it at all,” Jensen replied.

“But then that would have been employing only your knowledge and none of my own. I hope you do not think me valueless,” the prince smirked as he pulled his mate on top of him. “For I find you priceless.”

Jensen swatted at him, and pulled away with a grin. “I will not admit to being happy with your decision, My Lord, but I will admit that I am glad to see you only minimally harmed.”

“Really?” Jared raised a brow. “Will I be ‘My Lord’ all night, or can I hope to gain some favor by plying you with food and drink?”

“I am hungry, I will admit to that as well.  I have not eaten all day,” Jensen replied.  He pushed off the prince and crossed to the large portals that looked out upon space.  He said nothing for a few moments, and then continued in a softer tone, “But I thought it would be I who would need to earn back your trust. And while I still feel strongly about the elixir, I will accept whatever punishment you feel I deserve for my actions this morn. I allowed our differences to go beyond this room, and you have already cautioned me against that. I saw how much it hurt the guardsmen to have to differentiate in their loyalty.” His head dipped down, and he glanced over his shoulder to where the prince remained.

As tired as he was, the Heir could not resist the temptation to join his mate at the portal. “You have nothing to be punished for, my love, unless it is punishment you seek.”

Jensen looked at him oddly.

“I mean it,” Jared said, “Do you want me to punish you? Will it make you feel better? Otherwise, there is nothing to be gained. The council knows nothing of what occurred. Your guardsmen are rounding up prisoners as we speak, that will ease their need for violence. And Misha, well, I suspect that as long as you are happy, Misha will be as well, as odd as that sounds.”

“I might,” Jensen admitted before gasping suddenly, pointing out the portal and pressing up against it, “Gods! What is that?”

“Watch,” Jared whispered, his hands closing around his mate’s waist. It was a truly miraculous event—one he was delighted to share with the man that he hoped would be with him for all of his journeys.

After a few moments, Jensen put a finger on the portal and asked again, “What is it?”

“It is called a ‘pillar of fire,’” Jared whispered in his ear, almost like it was a bedtime story. “I have seen it in books. When a larger star, one much larger than your _Abeil_ , shoots past a smaller one, they can pull a stream of plasma between them as they separate. And that plasma stays in place, cooling and forming planets. What you are seeing is extraordinary, Jensen. It is a once in a millennium event.”

Jensen drew in a deep breath again. “I cannot believe it!” He rushed to the sofa and grabbed the book he had been reading, shoving it into the prince’s hands. “The general gave me this. He said the Chief Ritualist gave it to him before he departed, and asked him to pass it on to me.”

Jared read the title again: _Can There Be A Perfect Royal Pair: Only When Worlds Threaten to Collide_. Apparently, his match made more sense to the Chief Ritualist than it did even to him. And right now, it made a lot of sense to him.

“Come now, my love,” Jared tossed the book aside and nuzzled at his neck. He grabbed Jensen’s hand and led him toward the bed. “I think it is time for me to punish you exquisitely.”


	6. Exquisite Punishment: An Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I feel the need to edit my porn every time I reread it, but I do. That and my 16-year-old's car accident are my only excuses for taking so long to post this. He is fine, thank God, but my car is not. 
> 
> I am going to post a glossary this week, and add to it as more things are introduced, or more information becomes available about those already on it. Terms, and hopefully some pronunciations if that will help any one. For instance, my dear friend and I have an ongoing debate about this, but it is Pershebe (Purr-shee-bee) and not Pershebe (Purr-sheeb). :)
> 
> Thanks to all who have read, left kudos and/or commented. I really appreciate it! ♥

Once they reached the corner of the bed, Jared let go of Jensen’s hand and stepped away. “Strip!” He demanded, taking a step back and crossing his arms against his chest, taking a good, long, head-to-toe look at his mate. It was a view he quite enjoyed, and a position he knew was difficult for his mate to accept.

“What?” Jensen grimaced, falling back against the linens. “But I thought…”

“You thought what, Jensen?” The prince queried.  He stood stoically in place, with nothing more than the modest tilt of his head to suggest he had spoken at all. He kept his expression stern. “You thought that you could request punishment and then determine what said punishment would entail? What do you think I am? Do you again presume that I am a simpleton awaiting guidance?” He allowed his voice to rise in authority, but not in pitch or fervor as he spoke. He was careful to keep anger out of his words. He was not angry with his mate after all, any hostility he might have harbored vanished the moment he entered their quarters, and Jensen’s concern for his injury and obvious remorse regarding the day’s events superseded all else.

“N-no,” Jensen stammered.

“And you asked me for punishment, did you not? Are you telling me now that you do not trust me to administer it fairly?  Because if that is your concern, it is one I will certainly understand.” The prince continued in the same confident inflection, despite his own internal hesitation. He would not proceed without his mate’s agreement, and it was clear that Jensen wanted this from him, so he tried his hardest to assume that regal quality he remembered his grandfather using in Court, the same tone that he had strived to achieve during each meeting of the Elite Council. It was important for Jensen to have confidence in his ability in this.

“I do,” Jensen replied immediately, “I trust you.”

Jared moved close to his mate and nuzzled at his neck for just a moment, whispering softly, “Then let yourself trust. I have no desire to hurt you, my love, I only want to guide you.” As soon as his words were finish, he stepped back again and resumed his position, waiting for his mate to fulfill his task and knowing just how difficult that would be for Jensen to complete.

Jensen’s hands trembled as he nodded and lifted his shirt over his head, not even bothering with the buttons. The process was slow, but Jared kept himself steady, by reminding himself of the precious gift his mate was offering, even if Jensen did not realize it quite yet. “Keep going,” he urged, as the soft fabric hit the bed.

Soon, Jensen stood before him, nude, head bowed and body quivering softly. Jared took the two steps that separated them and cupped Jensen’s cheek gently as he offered a chaste kiss as a reward for his compliance. “Hmmm…should I feed you first, or bathe you?”

“I can do both myself,” Jensen replied with a faint tremble in his voice.

Jared looked down, jarred from his thoughts. “I was not asking you a question, love. I was thinking aloud. Do not speak now, not until I give you leave.  This is time to let go of yourself and feel.”

Jensen dropped his head again, and if anything, the trembling increased.

Suddenly, Jared grabbed Jensen’s hand and crossed to the table. He sat at his usual place, and settled Jensen in his lap. “I am sure you are hungry, and we have much to cover tonight, so first, I believe I will feed you.”

He held up a slice of fruit, let it graze across Jensen’s lips for a moment, and then smirked when the younger man finally opened his mouth and accepted the morsel, all without a sound.

“Very good,” he praised, raising another bite to Jensen’s mouth and waiting for it to be accepted as well.

“This does not feel like punishment,” Jensen whispered once he had chewed and swallowed what was likely to have been his tenth or fifteenth mouthful.

“Are you full?” Jared asked, ignoring the statement and the obvious lapse in the first of the evening’s rules.

As soon as Jensen nodded his assent, Jared nudged his mate off his lap, and prodded him toward the other room. “Good,” he remarked, “I cannot imagine beginning your punishment on an empty stomach.”

Jensen swallowed hard, hard enough that Jared could hear it, and it was all he could do to turn before the edges of his lips turned upward. This was not the time to break into a grin.

***

  
Jensen stood at the edge of the bath, and watched as Jared slowly undressed. He kept his head lowered, but still, he could tell what the prince was doing. Jared donned his robe and walked about the room gathering items, acting as if he were completing his usual evening ritual.  


“Get in the bath, Jensen,” the prince called from across the room. “But recline on the first step. I wish to bathe you.”

“Ba—!”

“Sshh!” Jared silenced him at once.  His voice was soft but firm. “Not a word until I give you permission,” he reminded the younger man.

Jensen found himself responding strangely to this side of the prince. A warmth spread deep within him. He knew not what to think. It was as if the prince knew he would protest before he uttered a word, and did not bother to turn around to see if Jensen would follow his command. Somehow that made it easier to step into the small pool. Jared’s back was still turned, and even the clear water provided him with a modicum of privacy—well at least a barrier of some sort. He stepped over the ledge and down onto the step, settling into the warm water a little more easily than he would have expected.

Moments later, Jared came to his side, kneeling there and placing several items within Jensen’s sight—some that he recognized, others that he did not.

“You are such a treasure!” Jared exclaimed, reaching into the water and stroking along Jensen’s flank. He reached lower and caressed the younger man’s cock and balls. “Look at you! Already half-hard and you have no idea what to expect of tonight.” He gave an appreciative tug. “Up on your knees for just a moment, love.”

Jensen did not hesitate to comply; his focus was wholly on the prince’s hand.

Slowly, Jared dried his handful with a luxurious Illearian cloth, and Jensen purred contentedly, his hips swaying with the movement. All the while, his cock swelled, and when Jared stroked it a few more times, Jensen’s hips jutted forward, and he moaned helplessly.

Jared chuckled. “Mmm…feels good, yes?”

Jensen nodded eagerly.

“Watch,” the prince continued, pulling far enough away that their bodies no longer touched and Jensen could see between them. Jared pulled a small cord out and wrapped it around the younger man’s cock and balls, pulling it just snug enough to make him groan, and then he tugged a few more times on Jensen’s length. “Perfect!” The prince exclaimed, gently pushing his mate back into the water.

He leaned forward and whispered in Jensen’s ear, “Gods! I want to shave you! I want to see you bare and feel your silky skin against my fingers and my tongue.”

Jensen moaned aloud.

“But that will have to wait for another time.” Jared shook his head slightly and reached for the cloth again, adding soap to it. He moved lower, starting at his mate’s feet.

“This is where your punishment begins, Jensen,” the prince explained, his tone turning serious once more. “Now I expect you to answer my questions honestly. But you are not allowed to offer anything more than answers, do you understand the rules of your punishment?” He looked into Jensen’s face for the first time, but tugged at his cock at the same moment, making it clear who was in charge.

“I b-believe so,” Jensen stammered, his eyes half-lidded. Jared was rubbing the bottom of his left foot meticulously with one hand, while the other had an entirely different mission.

“Good,” Jared reassured, “then I want you to think for a few minutes, and I will not rush you in this, I promise. I want you to tell me what you believe it is that you need forgiveness for.”

“Forgiveness?” Jensen asked.

“Of course,” the prince replied. “What else? Why would you seek punishment if you were not seeking forgiveness?” He paused for a moment, concentrating on the foot in his hand. “Take a few minutes to consider it.”

And Jensen did. He felt Jared’s hands and the cloth move up his body—the tingling sensation was almost overpowering at times—but he needed to replay his day, it had been a long and difficult one.

Jared remained silent, he simply washed, occasionally kneading a particularly sore spot, and then moved on to the next body part, rinsing out his cloth and applying more soap as he continued his task.

“I should not have assumed I knew more,” Jensen mumbled almost imperceptibly.

“About what?” Jared asked without inflection.

“About making decisions. I should not have assumed that I knew enough to make them single-handedly.”

“Okay,” Jared shrugged, rinsing the rag, and turning to reach for something out of Jensen’s line of sight.

“Wait! There’s more!” Jensen exclaimed.

Jared turned around immediately, dropping the cloth and wrapping his long fingers around the back of his mate’s neck. “I know. I am not rushing you.”

After a moment or two, he gave Jensen a soft kiss on the cheek, picked up the cloth, and resumed his task.

“I was wrong to put the guards in the position of having to choose sides between us. And I did it not once, but twice. And I should not have voiced my disagreement with you outside of these rooms.” Jensen was speaking almost too fast to understand himself at this point.

“And why is that important?” Jared interrupted.

Jensen crinkled his brow in thought. “Because you are the prince?”

Jared reached for Jensen’s hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.  Then he intertwined their fingers and started to wash them tenderly. “No,” he whispered, “try again.”

“Ah,” Jensen seemed to get his point at once. “Because if we stand together, we will not appear weak.”

Jared kissed his hand again and then allowed his bracelet to glide along the chain encircling Jensen’s neck—it always made the younger man’s eyes flutter shut and a moan fall from his lips. “Exactly!” The prince agreed.

The prince took the opportunity to drop the cloth and reach down to stroke his mate’s trapped cock once again. “Is that all?”

“The Keepers,” Jensen admitted.

“The Keepers?” Jared let his hand slip from his treasure.

Jensen dropped his gaze to the water before him. “I am ashamed to admit that I made a terrible mess of their midday meal, and that I escaped here, into the bath, rather than face them when they returned.”

Jared laughed, once again reaching for his mate. “Perhaps you can make it up to them tomorrow.”

“What?” Jensen looked up incredulously.

“You do not see, do you? All that come to know you adore you. If you but smile again, all will be set aright in the morn.”

Jensen had no response, and neither man spoke for a few minutes.

“Scoot forward and lean back, let me wash your hair,” Jared commanded. “I like it the way you wear it these days.”

“What happened in the council meeting?” Jensen asked as he complied.

“Well, it was difficult for a short time,” Jared explained, “Commander Pileggi doubted your allegiance, but the general swore to it. He was amazing; you should have seen it. The general even insisted that there now stood ten between Tsettel and Fayar.”

“And Pershebe,” Jensen added.

“And Pershebe,” the prince agreed, dipping his mate’s head below the surface and laughing when Jensen rose with a sputter.

“That is another,” Jensen admitted. “I am sorry I abandoned you at the council meeting. I should have been there. Both Fayar and Pershebe deserved that.”

“They did.” Jared continued to rinse the remaining suds from Jensen’s hair. “But you were in no condition to attend today. For that, you are easily forgiven.”

“Still, it will not happen again,” Jensen insisted. “I will not abandon you at the council again. I will not leave you to stand alone.”

Jared leaned back on his heels for a moment and looked at his mate. “I will hold you to that. You are clean. Get out.” He held out a towel and waited for Jensen to rise.

As Jensen found himself wrapped in the warmth of the luxurious cloth, he could not hold back his last confession, “There is one more thing. I think it is probably the most important of them all.”

Jared came up behind him, wrapped his arms around his mate, and dried him slowly. “What is that?” He asked, close to Jensen’s ear.

“I should have trusted you to do what was best for your people…and mine.”

“Is that all?” Jared whispered.

“And I guess for not believing you would take my concerns into consideration,” Jensen admitted.

“Not just into consideration. They mean a great deal more to me than that. I meant it truly when I told you that you are a thinker, Jensen. And I find myself relying more and more on you each day.”

Jared kept his arms around his mate as they made their way back into the main room. The evening meal had been cleared in their absence, and the cosmic event occurring outside their quarters was no less astounding.

He led them all the way until Jensen once again dropped into a heap upon their bed. “So tell me, my mate. What punishment will you accept for all the missteps you have claimed as your own?”

“You expect me to name my own punishment?” Jensen turned brusquely, staring at the prince, wide-eyed. He raised his hands from the cloth to grab Jared’s arms.

“Do you want to?” Jared asked, in a softer tone, his knuckles gliding softly along the sharp line of Jensen’s jaw.

“I…” Jensen stopped almost before he started, and then he shook his head. “No, I do not want to decide.”

“Then you will trust your punishment to me tonight? Completely?” The prince asked.

Jensen dropped his hands. And then he nodded. Softly, he replied, “I will give myself to you completely. I trust you now.”

Jared sighed heavily, wasting no time on the thoughts Jensen’s admission conjured in his head, instead reaching down to grab one corner of the luxurious cloth shrouding his mate.  And before Jensen could take another breath, he was rolled out of it, sprawled out across their bed in all his glorious nakedness.

“I will remind you tonight, of all of your offenses,” he whispered, clamoring onto the bed, and leaning close to his mate’s ear. “Before we are done, you will not forget them.”

“I already remember them,” Jensen started.

“Shh!” Jared ordered. “Do I have to remind you that you may only speak this night when I give you leave?”

Jensen shook his head, and scurried up toward the headboard as Jared nudged him to do so.

“You will not forget them,” Jared repeated softly, “But you will grant yourself forgiveness, as will I.”  And then he rose from their bed and disappeared into the bath with on last command, “Stay.”

***

  
Jared waited in the bath, around the corner from the head of the bed, and out of the line of Jensen’s sight, until the weight of his own thoughts was a heavy tension in his mate’s limbs.  Even reclining on the bed, the concern for what he had done and the uncertainty of what was to come were a cumbersome load.  Jared could see the fine trembling along Jensen’s lean muscles and the fine sheen of sweat that covered him.  


Jared cleared his throat quietly as he came into Jensen’s view, not wanting to startle his mate further.  “Have no fear of me, my love.  I will not push you beyond what you are capable of, and I know you better than you realize.”

Jensen was panting heavily, his head twisted uncomfortably to the side.  He was searching the prince’s face for reassurance.

Jared moved closer and took Jensen’s lips in a passionate kiss. More so than he had done before. He leaned part of his weight against his mate, and pushed farther inside, seeking out more of the flavor he had come to crave.

He pulled back for a moment, and looked down, “Kiss me, Jen,” he ordered, leaning back down, fully expecting to be obeyed.

Jensen moaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the prince. It was becoming easier and easier to accept the prince’s commands. He felt himself become harder and harder, that strange band confining him but arousing him nonetheless.

Jared pulled away, leaving Jensen gasping and following after him for another kiss. “You are forgiven,” the prince said.

“Wha—?”

“Shh! No talking, Jensen,” Jared reminded him. “For assuming you should make the decisions single-handedly. For that act, you are forgiven.”

Jensen stared at him, mouth agape, but before he could say another word, Jared covered it with his own. Slowly, Jared moved lower, to his jaw, to his neck, finally, he settled on his chest. The prince lapped at one nipple, and then turned to the other, sucking it in and swirling his tongue around it. That drew a long, deep moan from the younger man, and a rise in his hips. Jared let it go, and moved back to the first, lavishing it with similar attention, grazing it with his teeth once or twice before letting it go. He reached down and stroked Jensen’s trapped cock and balls. “Gods! You look so good like this!”

Jensen was leaning up, not just with his hips, but with his chest as well, straining to make any contact he could.

“Forgiven again,” Jared whispered in his ear. “For causing the guards to choose between us. But I beg you not to do it again.”

“I-I will not,” Jensen mumbled, his head moving back and forth, seeking the source of the sound.

“No talking, Jen,” Jared warned again, although his tone suggested it was light-hearted. There was no doubt his lover was not deliberately breaking the evening’s rules.

Jared licked lower, circling around Jensen’s navel before delving into it with the tip of his pointed tongue. He curved his hands beneath his lover, raising his ass in the air, but avoiding his bound treasures. Jared squeezed and kneaded as he licked and tasted. Even just the taste of his mate’s skin was a treat all its own.

Jensen's head was lolling from side to side. His moans came one on top of the next and the movement of his hips was only restrained by the prince’s own hands.

“Please,” Jensen begged.

“Shh!” Jared lifted his head and squeezed his handfuls immediately. “No words. It is not my desire to start your punishment over. Is it yours?”

“No, My Lord,” Jensen gasped.

“Then you are forgiven for your behavior at the midday meal,” Jared explained, pulling away once again so he could make eye contact. “I know that I have skipped one, but the two that are left are those that are most important to me. Will you still accept my punishment for those as well as you have done so far?”

Jensen tried to catch his breath, and he looked into the prince’s eyes. It would be a task, no doubt, but he was certain he had earned as much. He nodded in response.

“Stay where you are,” Jared demanded, moving up the bed to straddle Jensen’s face. Slowly, he guided his cock between those luscious lips. “I will not hurt you, my love,” he reassured.

Jensen opened wide, remembering the experience from not so long ago. He did his best to allow his tongue to bathe the prince’s shaft, even reaching a hand up to help, until Jared gently pulled it away.

Without thinking, Jensen reached his other hand down to his own swollen flesh, but the prince detected that movement as well, and moved his own hand down to curtail the effort. Before he knew it, both of Jensen’s hands were above his head, and his breaths were muffled moans as he tried to keep up with Jared’s pace and stave off his own arousal.

Slowly, Jared’s pace quickened, Jensen trying to find a breath where he could, until the prince was rutting frantically and pulling back just as Jensen expected him to push forward to completion as he had before. Jensen found himself moaning in disappointment, longing for the taste of the prince.

“Close you eyes!” Jared warned, pulling out as he felt his balls tighten up, ready to expel their load.

Jensen sputtered as he felt the first few warm drops across his cheek, his lips.  He nearly yelled out, stopping only because he felt Jared’s fingers against his lips. The prince was still breathing heavily, the last of his spend dripping down upon Jensen’s lips. He took the chance to reach out with his tongue and take a taste. Was it the same when delivered thus?

“Gods!” Jared swore. He leaned down, grabbing Jensen by the nape of his neck and pulling him up just enough to reach his lips. “You are even more beautiful like this!” He kissed Jensen fervently and then took a cloth to wipe away what was left of his seed.

“You told me you were sorry for voicing our disagreement beyond these rooms,” Jared whispered in his ear. “You are mine, and I will be yours when you will have me. You are forgiven.”

Jensen put a hand on each side of Jared’s face, pushing the older man away so he could see him more clearly. And then he reached both arms around him again, hugging him closely. “I will not do it again, you have my assurance.”

“I do not doubt you,” Jared cradled his lover in his arms before laying him back down on the bed. “But you have one more offense to atone for. Do you remember what it is?”

Jensen lowered his eyes, nodding as he did.

“Trust is a difficult thing,” Jared explained, “I do not think less of you because of this, my love.”

Jensen still remained in place.

“But you do?” Jared asked.

Jensen thought for a moment before answering. “Maybe not less, but I need it. I _want_ to…”

“Stop!” Jared demanded. “You do not even know what you are saying. Your lips are moving, but you make no sense. So, do not talk. Just accept.”

He leaned forward, passing over Jensen to reach for the bedside table this time, and came back with a tiny vas that Jensen had seen every day but had never put any thought to.

“Spread your legs, my love,” Jared whispered, kneeling up in between them. As Jensen followed his orders slowly, the prince nudged them even further apart, and planted each foot solidly on the bed.

“Give me your hand,” he coaxed, holding the vas out for Jensen to see.

Jared opened the flask and poured a small amount of the viscous liquid into Jensen’s palm. “Swirl your fingers in it,” he encouraged. “Trust me.”

Jensen looked up at the prince as he obeyed, feeling the cool, but thick liquid coat his first and second fingers. It was an odd feeling.

Jared reached down and glazed his own fingers with what was left in the palm of Jensen’s left hand and let them gently glide along his mate’s bound shaft.

It embarrassed Jensen how fast his hips jutted forward and how quickly the “please” slipped from his lips.

“I told you,” Jared smirked, “No words, Jensen. And now I am not going to do anything.” When Jensen starred at him aghast, he added, “But you are.  Nod your head if you trust me.”

Jensen nodded all too eagerly, his hips still moving against his will.

“Reach down, Jensen,” Jared whispered. He stroked his mate’s cock gently, almost too gently for as aroused as the younger man was. “Let your finger circle your hole. Trust me, it will feel so good.”

Jensen groaned, resisting even the feel of Jared’s hand on his trapped cock.

“Trust me,” Jared repeated, continuing his soft strokes. “Do it.”

Jensen mewled, shook his head back and forth, but within moments allowed his oil-slicked finger to find its way to his entrance. He touched it gently, and circled around it just as Jared had commanded.

Jared praised him with a few firmer pulls on his cock. He leaned forward and sucked in a nipple for further encouragement. He leaned back after a few minutes and watched. “Yes, just like that. Now, dip it in a tiny bit. It will feel so good, I promise you.”

Jensen looked up at him questioningly, but did as he was told. His cock ached, and so far, everything that felt good around his entrance made Jared stroke his aching erection even more. He poked a finger in, but just a bit.

“That is it,” Jared praised again. “Move it around. In and out.” He poured a little more of the liquid on Jensen’s finger and guided it farther in. “Does it feel good?”

“It does not hurt,” Jensen answered, somewhat honestly. It kind of felt good, but he was not quite certain how to explain it.

Jared answered easily enough by pulling gently on Jensen’s trapped balls.

“Gods!” Jensen exclaimed.

“Shh!” Jared reminded him. “Go deeper.” He wrapped a hand around Jensen’s and guided him in farther. “It will feel better.”

“Wh-when can I talk?” Jensen ventured between gasps. The prince had pushed his finger nearly all the way into his entrance.

“When you have two fingers inside you, without my help,” Jared answered without hesitation, dribbling more of the liquid on Jensen’s other finger.

“Uhn!” Jensen groaned, burying his feet into the bed, and trying desperately to decide what to do with his ass.

“Your other finger,” Jared suggested, “Circle it around your hole. Press gently at the edges.  I want to see it.” He kept up that steady, gentle pull on Jensen’s shaft.

Jensen felt himself locked in some sort of trance, following each order as it came. Each step was so slight; it hardly made a difference, after all. He touched his middle finger to his hole, feeling the other sliding in and out, like it was someone else’s. But it was not, it was his. Before he knew what he was doing, that second finger slipped in next to the first and he could hear Jared’s praise. It made him smile.

Jared leaned down and whispered in his ear, “You are perfect. And already forgiven. But I would like you to have more. Feel around; let yourself feel. You can talk now.”

“Feel for what?” Jensen looked up, still moving his fingers in and out. He could feel the prince’s hand on his cock.

“Just feel,” Jared assured him, once again, reaching down to guide his hand in its venture.

Jensen gasped the first time he felt a tiny spark, but the second time it was stronger, and he groaned loudly.

“That is it,” Jared assured him, allowing Jensen’s hand to move on its own, “Stroke there, over and over.”

At the same time, Jared began stroking his cock in earnest, meeting the timing of Jensen’s upward thrusts perfectly. He caressed his balls and pumped harder and harder. “Come on!” He demanded, staring down at his mate, with nothing but love in his eyes.

“Please,” Jensen begged, not stopping the thrust of his fingers or his hips. “I cannot. Take it off!”

“You can!” Jared insisted, speeding up his pace on Jensen’s cock, sweat streaming down his brow. “Come on, love. Come on!” Finally, he squeezed his mate’s balls, just a gentle pressure, but surely that would be enough.

“Argh!!” Jensen cried out, his body convulsing in dry climax. He fell back against the bed, his fingers far from his ass, and no idea what had happened, only that he was lost, trying to catch his breath, and his cock was hard as a rock, purple, and still bound by the cord the prince had placed there earlier.

“Gods! What happened?” Jensen asked when he finally caught his breath.

“Do you feel better?” Jared asked, reclining on the bed next to his mate.

Jensen looked over, and then down at his bound, still hard shaft. “No…yes.  I feel as if a storm ripped through me, and left me in pieces.  But now it has passed and I am beginning to feel the peaceful swells it left behind,” he replied, still panting.

“Good,” Jared smirked. “That seems apt punishment.” He turned over, extinguished the light, and then pulled his mate close. “We will talk more in the morn.”

"Thank you," Jensen whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Chris had been drilling in the practice range for nearly an hour before the huge doors slid open. He’d gotten used to his Disc.  The Eliminator was more cumbersome in his hand than the smaller, lighter weapon, but still manageable. He hoped to spend many more hours with it before he sparred with another.

A sole figure entered, but the glare from the overhead lights kept Christian from focusing on whoever had arrived. So he turned his attention back to the targets and aimed once again.

“Never turn your back on a potential adversary,” a woman’s voice purred. The silky tone did not mask the threat beneath it, though. But what really caught his attention was the language she delivered her warning in.

He swung around, conscientious enough to lower his weapon, and surveyed the newcomer. She was not anyone he had sparred with before, or even passed in a corridor. He would have noticed. Her skin was a delicious soft brown, glistening with sweat as the first beads started to seep out—just like they always did when one entered the overly warm training center. Her hair was dark brown and thick with gorgeous golden lines streaking though it. It probably hung well below her shoulders, but somehow she had managed to bundle it all on top of, and around her head in a way Christian had never seen before. He was spellbound and completely at a loss for words.

“What?” She smirked.  “They told me you were Pershebian. Have you forgotten your own words so soon?”

“Of course I have not!” Hearing the word _Pershebian_ seemed to bring him back to life, but he settled down after his initial bluster. “But how do you know them?”

The woman grinned again, and crossed to a case displaying various training weapons. She was not wearing the usual uniform of the Royal Guard, Christian noticed. Well, at least not the close-fitting, long-sleeved jersey that he tugged away from his neck constantly. Instead, she wore the familiar uniform pants and a sleeveless shirt, leaving her arms uncovered.

“We all speak Pershebian,” she shrugged, picking up an Eliminator and examining it. “It is a requirement of the Royal Guard.”

“Then why has no one spoken it to me?” Christian replied, struggling to keep the anger restrained to his voice alone.

“Really?” She cocked her head, seemingly unaffected by his tone. “Do you even need to ask?”  Without waiting for a response, she walked toward the control panel and pushed several buttons. Christian watched as his various targets disappeared and the arena was left empty save for the woman and himself.

“They say you can fight,” she said, effortlessly lifting the weapon that was longer than her forearm and heavier than a good portion of her upper body. “Show me.”

Christian turned to face her, setting his weapon to “training” mode before raising it to accept her challenge. There was something about her he was unable to resist.

“Stun One,” She said.

“What?” Christian looked across the ten paces that separated them, not sure he had heard her correctly.

“Set it to ‘stun one,’” She repeated. “A victory seems hollow if a warrior does not feel the power of his win. Do you not agree?” Without waiting for a response, she turned her own weapon to the side and exaggeratedly made the adjustment.

Christian followed suit, and lowered his body into a crouch. It served two purposes: centering his point of gravity and diminishing his target size. He might not be as familiar with the weapon, but surely he had both weight and strength advantage. The Eliminator was cumbersome, and this woman was several inches shorter than he, and he clearly outweighed her.

They squared off against each other for several minutes, mirroring each other’s movements in a circular pattern. The weight of the weapon grew more comfortable against the length of his arm and he took his first shot, aiming for the woman’s leg. He did not want to cause unnecessary harm.

Before he could blink, she triggered her own weapon, releasing a beam of light that met his and eliminated it instantly. She rolled to the ground, and raising her weapon only inches away from him, shot again—this time nearly straight up.

“Ugh!” Christian groaned, dropping his weapon, grabbing his crotch, and sinking to the ground. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the grin on the woman’s face. But he could still hear.

“Damn, you need work!” She growled.

___________________________

  
The air on the royal vessel was tense following the arrests, and Jensen no longer enjoyed his trips to the agritory or the lab. It seemed that no matter where he went, someone in the corridor found a way to hold him accountable for their missing friends.  


So far, no reports had been issued. No one knew what had happened to the missing crewmembers other than the formally issued statement proclaiming necessary staff reassignments. But somehow it all seemed to come back full-force on Jensen. He saw every sneer and heard every hiss as he passed, and after two or three days, he stopped even trying to leave their quarters when he felt the desire.

Now, he waited for Steven or Richard to clear the corridor before he headed out—Charles always remained at his side. Once again, he felt like a prisoner.

***

  
“Look at them!” Misha exclaimed as the door opened and Jensen entered the agritory. He did not turn around to see who it was; he never did when Jensen entered. “They are beautiful, yes?”  


Jensen plopped down on a box next to the plot where Misha was working, his head dropped to his chest. “They hate me,” he mumbled.

Misha turned his attention from his tiny trees to Jensen and back. “No they do not, they love it when you are here.”

Jensen looked up at him and glowered.

“Oh, not the trees?” The agrician questioned. “You mean the people?”

Jensen nodded meekly.

“So? Many hated you before, and you did not care then, why would you care now?” Misha dusted off his hands and sat down next to his friend. Their shoulders touched, and the gesture felt comfortable. “What has changed?”

“Now they have a reason,” Jensen mumbled.

“Ha!” Misha bellowed, leaning so far back he almost fell over. Once he had recovered himself and looked at his friend, he stopped grinning. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Their friends are missing, and I am to blame. Of course I am serious,” Jensen frowned. Certainly Misha, of all people, would understand.

“I am a simple agrician,” Misha began, “But having some strange connection with the mind of the Chosen has granted me more insight than many in my position would otherwise have. Still, I find that I am having difficulty understanding how you hold yourself accountable for the countless acts of treason perpetrated by members of this crew who swore their allegiance to both Fayar and the prince. Perhaps you can enlighten me.”

When he finished, Misha looked over at his friend with wide blue eyes, and if it had not been for that, Jensen would have gotten up and walked away, thinking himself being made fun of.

“Without me, they would still have their friends,” Jensen tried to explain.

“Without you, we would still be under constant threat of betrayal,” Misha countered. “The only difference is that _they_ do not know that. You should be smart enough to, though. Or do you need another lesson like the one Leader Fredric gave us?”

“No!” Jensen exclaimed.

“Good,” Misha rose, again walking toward his miniature, but thriving trees. “Now, do you think they are beautiful?”

Jensen grinned. “Yes, Misha. They are beautiful. What are they?”

“What—”

The opening door silenced him.

“It is time. Are you ready?” Jared asked as soon as he entered.

Jensen stood up, straightening his shirt, and turned to the prince, “Yes, I believe I am. Misha, come with us.”

Jared’s mouth dropped, and he looked from one to the other, but he did not bother to argue. “Yes, Misha. You should come.”

__________________________

  
The range was dimly lit, just the sconces along the outer walls casting shadows and creating figures that were not really there. Christian held his Disc in his left hand, a position that was usually awkward for him, but after a week of training with it that way, he had become accustomed to the feel.  


_ Train for the most uncomfortable of fighting positions, so that you are pleased with any. _

He kept low, away from the walls and scanned for signs of movement. At the first sound from behind, he dropped silently to the ground and rolled to his right, popping up and firing before dropping back down and rolling in the opposite direction. He heard the answering fire but nothing else, nothing to suggest he had made contact.

This time, he did not rise. He remained prone on the ground, minimized his movement, even his breathing, and waited. He waited. He waited.

He had learned patience and perseverance in his last few weeks on Pershebe. And as it had then, it worked for him now. Just as he kept still and waited for the _berabas_ to find his traps, the mysterious woman came to him.

_ When you learn your opponent's weakness, you must use it against them immediately. _

There she was, dancing fluidly from one shadow to the next, almost as if the wind blew one shadow into the next for a split second of time. Except in here, there was no wind. And so Christian stayed on the ground, tempered his breathing, and waited for that spectacular shadow to dance close enough to him that his strength would be enough to grab hold of it this time.

It was a long wait. Her dance was a beautiful but deliberate one, and he sensed the moment she detected his presence. Suddenly, he sprang to his feet, dodged to his left—something he had practiced mostly in her absence—and turned back to the right, firing only one round and hitting her squarely in the chest from only a few feet away.

She never got a shot off.

He barely had the time to catch her before she dropped.

“Feels good, does it…?”

He held her motionless form protectively in his arms, easing it to the ground. It did feel good. It was his first real victory. And it did feel really good.

* * *

  
“I let you win,” Megalyn declared as they sat down to share their first meal. They had not talked about much other than fighting so far, but Christian had managed to learn her name at least.  


“You did not!” Christian argued. “I planned that attack. I laid in wait for you!”

She laughed. “I am not discounting your skills, fighter. I am simply telling you that I could have defeated you easily.”

“Then why did you let me win?” He scowled, pushing his platter away. His food had suddenly lost its flavor.

“Because to move on, you needed to taste victory first. Restraining myself to the skill set you currently possess, you truly did win.” She pulled out her Disc and placed it on the table between them, stroking it gently. “But this weapon can do so much more for you than you can imagine, you simply have to allow it to.”

Christian frowned skeptically, glancing from the woman’s—Megalyn’s—hand as she caressed the weapon like a lover, to her face, and back down again. “How do I allow it to do that?”

“Do you believe that it can?” She raised an eyebrow questioningly, and the corner of her lip curved up like it did each time she seemed to sense victory.

“I do not know,” Christian admitted, “But I believe that you do.”

She pulled the weapon off the table and slipped it back into its sleeve at her hip. “Then that will have to be enough for now,” she replied simply. “I will show you more when we train tomorrow.”

“Why are you helping me?” Christian blurted out. It was a question that had plagued him since meeting the woman so abruptly just over a week prior. But until he had held her limp form in his arms, preventing it from dropping to the ground, only to learn now, that she had allowed that to happen, did he feel like they had progressed to the point of conversation beyond fighting strategies. “Two _septamas_ ago, I had never seen you before, and suddenly I see you every day.”

“I was busy,” she replied elusively, reaching over and stealing a piece of meat from his neglected plate.

Christian stood up and prepared to walk away. “If I cannot trust you, I do not need you,” he replied. “Go back to being too busy.”

“Relax,” Megalyn stood and reached across to grab hold of his sleeve. “Sit down, fighter. I was not lying when I said I was busy. But perhaps I was not providing enough information to satisfy you. I am a lieutenant commander, and second in command of this vessel, but also the best fighter aboard. Upon this ship, only Commander Benedict is my senior officer. But Marshall Roché is in charge of the entire Royal Guard, and he is convinced that you have a role to play in the protection of your world. So the task of training you properly has fallen to me.”

Christian sat down again so that he had enough time to think before he spoke. “I do not know about all of that. I am only looking—”

“For your friend,” she interrupted, her tone softening. “Right? You want to find the friend who vanished with the Royal Fleet.” Megalyn had not let go of his sleeve. In fact, she used the opportunity to open her hand and rub his arm, almost consolingly.

Christian could not speak. No one had spoken so openly to him, or shown the merest hint of emotion since he had been aboard. Oh, there had been flirting and teasing, many jokes and laughter as he gained knowledge of their language and skill with their weapons, but no real outward gestures of understanding or empathy.

She leaned in conspiratorially, and whispered, “We have all lost so much to the protection of your world and our empire. You cannot imagine until you see and learn more. But I will promise you one thing, if you give me the opportunity to teach you all that I know, and we find that the prince and his chosen are still safe, you may have your chance to defend your friend. And perhaps, both our worlds will gain a better fighter out of the bargain.”

Christian pulled away, distancing himself. “Why would you do that? You are sworn to protect him, are you not?”

Megalyn tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, fighter, in a fair fight, the prince can defend himself. And with your strength and determination combined with my knowledge—I will surely enjoy watching the battle. I do not know that we will ever be in contact with them, it is not a guarantee I can offer, but I can promise to make you a better fighter so that if we do, you will stand a chance.”

He stared into her face for several moments, trying to figure out if this was some new game. Her hand had not left his arm, and it was the most contact he’d had with anyone outside the range since leaving Pershebe.

“Do we have a deal?” She asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Will you try to learn what I can teach you?”

“Yes,” Christian answered immediately, nodding at the same time. He wanted this. If there were mysteries to these weapons, he wanted to know what they were. He wanted to master them.

_____________________________

  
Misha waited in the shuttle with Gabriel and the commanders of all seven escort vessels as the prince, his chosen, and the general exited and turned down the corridor that led to the Command Deck. While Gabriel was no younger than himself, perhaps even a year or two older, it was easy to see why Jensen had suggested Misha join them—the young presage was trembling in the presence of the commanders.  


The silence in the shuttle only seemed to make it worse. So, Misha did what he deemed to be his responsibility at that point. “I am sure it will not be a long wait,” he whispered, doing his best to reassure the presage. He had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, and adamantly refused to make eye contact with any of the commanders. Which made the two clocks that one of them was holding in his hands all the more noticeable.

“You think?” Gabriel looked up at him hopefully.

“I am sure.”  Misha patted his shoulder. “I do not think we would be crammed in here if it was going to be a long wait.”

“Whisper quieter,” One of the others mumbled.

“Is that even possible?” Misha grinned, breathing the words directly in Gabriel’s ear. And the other man had to suppress a giggle. At least he was trembling with laughter and not anxiety now.

___________________________

  
“Clear the Deck!” General Beaver bellowed as they entered. “Not you Parrack. We have a group of trainees on the way up, and you will be in charge. The rest of you have the day off.”  


“Y-yes, sir. Wh-what do you need me to do?” the major stammered, stopping in his tracks, having risen along with the rest of the officers. He stood before the general with his shoulders rounded and uncertainty on his face. But once the doors slid closed, he resumed his normal position immediately, and keyed the corridor camera. “They are making their way to the shuttles sir. I am assuming ‘Shuttle One’ is not operational.”

“You assume right,” General Beaver took on the Command position. This was the Royal Vessel after all, and while many of the escort ships could be run with a much sparser crew, this one required several professionals. Even Jared took a position until the other commanders could join them. Each and every commander was fully capable of handling any position on the Deck. “Just open the damn door when they are all off this level.”

“Will do, sir,” Major Parrack grinned as he counted every last crewmember entering the shuttles and heading for an unexpected day of leave. As the final door closed, ‘Shuttle One’ opened, and the four men on the Command Deck watched as the seven commanders, one presage, and an agrician made their way to the Deck.

Jared met them at the doors. “Misha, thank you for coming. Can you wait here with Presage Tigerman for a few minutes until we are prepared?”

“Of course, My Lord,” Misha bowed slightly.

And I would ask another favor of you.”

“Whatever I can do,” Misha replied humbly.

“Can you wait just outside the doors for him. I think our presage may still need more encouragement when his services are no longer required here.”

Misha did not bother looking in. Nothing felt amiss. “I’ll be happy to.” He offered the other man a comforting smile before the doors closed, leaving just himself and Gabriel standing in the corridor.

“Come on, Gabriel, sit.” Misha slid down along the wall to wait. It could be minutes or hours, and he hadn’t even thought to bring a book.

“Thanks,” Gabriel huffed, scooting down the wall to join him.

____________________________

  
The “Elite Ten,” as the General had begun to refer to them over the past week, had all arrived, and each commanding officer assumed a position until they were all filled. That freed the general, the prince and Commander Pileggi from all other responsibilities, and allowed them to focus entirely on the mission at hand—not that the others were incapable of paying attention, but they were at times otherwise occupied with the mundane operations of navigating the huge vessel through space.  


Commander Pileggi continued to refer to them as the “Elite Nine,” always insisting that Jensen was simply the Heir’s “plus one.”

Jensen heard it several times, and the general’s responding grumble, before he asked Jared for an explanation. When even the prince's face colored as he tried to describe it in favorable terms, Jensen laughed heartily.

That was the first time Jared saw Major Parrack grin at anything that his mate had said or done.

Jared scanned the room to make sure all was in order. “The clocks,” he looked at Commander Poindexter, and gestured for the man to place them on the desk below the viewing screen. It seemed the most visible place. “All is in order, I believe we are prepared.” He did not wait for a reply, but went to the door and summoned the presage in.

He sat down before the audio panel and put a reassuring arm around Tigerman as he handed the presage a note. “Read it to yourself, and then read it out loud,” Jared suggested. “I want to make sure it sounds right.”

Gabriel began scanning the page. “ _Trainee?_ ” He asked, offended. “I am no trainee! I am not even a novice. I came on this mission and did the duty assigned to me by the Chief Ritualist like every other presage who was there!”

“It is only a message, nothing more. You are being asked to deliver it because I value your loyalty and because you are from Delthestica.” The prince reassured him. “It is an audio message only, so if you need to veer from what is written, simply look to me.” Jared held a stylus and pad in his hand.

Tigerman swallowed hard. “O-okay,” his voice began to tremble as he scanned the words again. “How much longer?”

At that moment, Jensen brought him a vas of water, it was his own, but he had none other to offer.

Gabriel accepted it eagerly, dipping his head in thanks.

General Beaver glanced at the two countdown clocks that had been placed below the viewing screen. “Eight minutes,” he said, “But remember that the words are important, no matter how wrong they sound. Just read the words.”

“Yes, sir,” The young presage mumbled into his drink, using it to obscure his eyes as he watched the clock tick down to just under seven minutes. The other one still showed well over an hour on its display.

***

  
The clock clicked down to zero, and Gabriel felt more like closing his eyes and waiting for a bullet to strike than speaking, but the prince cleared his throat and indicated for him to toggle the switch.  


“Delthestica Station One, this is _Trainee_ Presage Tigerman, I have a message from the Master Ritualist for Premier Brown. Do we have contact?” Gabriel turned the switch off, and sighed heavily.

“You’re doing good,” the prince assured him.

“Delthestica One here. We cannot pinpoint your location Trainee Presage. Can you verify your location?”

Gabriel glanced from his sheet of responses to the prince in a panic, but Jared was already scrambling to write down a reply.

“The, uh, the Master Ritualist requires a solo video conference with the premier. And insists that all messages be encrypted,” Gabriel spoke as fast as he could read. “If the premier can be available for a vid-con in one hour, ten minutes, his time would be greatly appreciated.”

They remained silent for a few minutes, listening to some background noise on the other end. “Delthestica One here, Premier Brown says that he always has time for the Master Ritualist, and that he will be certain to be available at the appointed time.” The operator proceeded to give coordinates to the premier's private video-conference room.

“Thank you, Delthestica One,” Gabriel replied, all on his own. He didn’t need a script for that one. “Until next time.”

“Until next time, Trainee Presage Tigerman,” came the response, and the link was broken.

A huge sigh of relief echoed around the room, and Jared put an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “You were perfect,” he reassured the presage. “Now all that I ask of you is that you keep this conversation amongst us.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” the presage responded immediately, “Does that include Misha? May I speak with Misha?”

“Yes, Misha is okay,” Jared agreed as the doors opened and he ushered the presage out.

* * *

  
“What the—” Gabe started.  


Misha was already standing; having heard the clicks on the control panel that signaled the door was about to open. It was amazing what sitting in silence for half an hour could teach you. “Hey! It is okay!” He grinned, wrapping an arm around the other man’s shoulders and steering him toward the shuttle.

“I do not know what just happened,” Gabriel continued.

Misha laughed. “Most of the time, I do not either.”

“Do you even know what a Master Ritualist is?” Gabe stopped in the corridor in front of the shuttle doorways.

“No idea,” Misha shook his head.

“And talking to Delthestica? This whole thing is crazy.”

“Absolutely,” Misha nodded in agreement. He kept his arm around the other man’s shoulders as they entered the shuttle. “You should come to the agritory with me though. You deserve some time off, and I have some plants ready to harvest that I think you might really like.”

“Thanks, Misha,” Gabriel looked up. “It is good to know I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, we all need a friend sometimes,” Misha agreed.

____________________________________

  
The elite ten plus Major Parrack remained on the Command Deck in near silence, watching the seconds tick down.  


After half an hour, it became too much for Jensen. “Tell me the plan again,” he whispered in Jared’s ear. And even as quiet as he was, he could see Commander Pileggi sneer halfway across the room.

“Commander Rhodes will go visual first to confirm it is the premier and that he is alone. That is the reason for the black screen around the video-conference area. It must not appear to be the Command Deck of a Royal Vessel. It is also the reason Commander Rhodes is out of uniform.” He smirked as he looked over at the woman who never had a hair below collar level, or an article of clothing that did not meet regulation, but now sat wearing the casual attire that was customary of the women who served the Ritualists. And her hair was loose and tousled—he did not know it was that long.

“And you believe that the premier will understand the message you sent?” Jensen asked softly.

“ _Plus one_ ,” Commander Pileggi grumbled. But before the prince could reply the clock ticked down below a minute, and everyone became professional again.

With the exception of Commander Rhodes. At this moment, she was the epitome of unprofessionalism. She swung her hair over one shoulder and grinned, like she was trying on her new persona.

“It is working,” The prince assured her.

And just then the screen crackled to life. “This is Premier Brown. I am in my private vid-con room awaiting a meeting with the _Master_ Ritualist.”

“Premier Brown,” Commander Rhodes purred, “Let me assure you that the Master will be with you shortly. First, I must ensure that you are alone—”

“I know who you are!” The premier shouted. “I am alone. I have done as you have asked. Let us have no more games!”

Jared scrambled to the screen, and the makeshift curtain fell away. “Premier Brown, I assure you, there was no intent to fool you or carry this ruse any farther along than was necessary to ensure that you were alone. Please forgive me if it appeared to be anything other than a safety measure on my part.”

“My Lord,” Premier Brown gasped, bowing deeply, “We had no hope of your return. Word has spread that your fleet was attacked and fell to a barrage from the Nechi-Mou. Alona crumpled and leaned heavily upon my son in her despair.”

Jared took a moment to absorb the news. He expected some ploy on his father’s part, but had no idea to what depths Jeff would go. “As she should,” he replied, quickly recovering himself, “But all is well with me, I assure you, premier. Thank Aldis for his support in the time of my cousin’s need.”

Brown dipped his head and his breath caught. Jared could tell that something was not right. “What is it, My Lord?” The prince asked formally.

“Aldis' health has failed him, I fear. I know not of what he suffers, but his spirit dwindles much like your mother’s did, only much more rapidly,” the premier explained. “Alona has turned to Leader Jeff for support and as his strength grows, I fear your realm declines. Fayar has lost much of its stronghold in the galaxy. Somehow, Gerandellar warships have managed to block many trade routes and many peoples, even the peaceful Laigurons, are unable to pass through in order to trade. Our stockpiles are diminishing, but Leader Jeff does not seem concerned in the slightest.”

Jared sat up straight and stared at the screen. It appeared as if the premier had aged fifteen annums since the prince had set out on his journey. “Surely a route can be cleared for an ambassador attempting to visit his ailing son…”

“Symptoms,” Jensen interrupted, whispering from just beyond the camera's range, “Tell me his symptoms.”

“Premier,” Jared stood tall and talked plainly, “What ails your son and my dear friend?”

For a moment, the premier was unable to reply, his head lowered, and he seemed hesitant to look up.

“I assure you, it is quite important,” Jared added, not even certain why he did, other than the look Jensen was giving him.

“It was difficult at first. I attributed it to ‘Honeymoon Syndrome.’ But then more and more of our conversations lacked continuity,” Premier Brown began. “He complained of being tired and that his food had no flavor. Finally, when he told me that he could feel pins constantly prickling his fingertips when none where there, I asked to speak with Alona. Prince Jared, that was six months ago. Since then, he has lost much of his hair and while his mind is only with him part of the time, Alona tells me that he lies awake most nights.”

For a moment, Jared’s mind was bombarded with memories of his mother—of the last major harvest before she passed onto her next journey. When all would celebrate, he sat at her side, watching as she laid awake, eyes unfocused, but still there, unable to find peace even in the night. Tiny thin wisps remained of her once brilliant hair, and if any could have seen her that day, they would no longer call her "Magre, the beautiful," even if Jared always would.

Jensen pulled at Jared’s arm, just enough to stir him from his trance. “It is a poisoning with the metals of the soil,” he insisted. “And probably quite heavy doses for as fast as it is overcoming him. There are ways to treat it, Jared. But he must stop ingesting them now!”

Jared turned back to the screen. “Premier Brown, before you set out for Fayar, contact Alona. Tell her to insist that Aldis be given only pre-prepared Army rations—even if it is only the liquid ones made ready for the sickest of our warriors.”

“And if he will not eat them?” Brown asked.

“I fear he is being poisoned, Premier,” Jared replied frankly. “He is my friend, and my cousin’s love. But if he continues as he is going now, I believe his journey among us will end soon.”

This time it was Brown who stood tall. “Army rations you say? And return to Delthestica?”

Pileggi coughed and pointed to the clock.

“I do not have much time left, Premier. Do not return to Delthestica with Aldis, but this must remain between us for now. I have no doubt that I continue to have your loyalty.”

“Until my last breath, My Lord. I have given my only two children into the service of the empire. I have no plans to break that allegiance now."

“As you have led Delthestica unerringly for all of these years, My Lord, you too have given your life to the service of our empire. And we are all grateful for it.” Jared explained. “Go now to Fayar. Offer Alona a hug, but it cannot be from me, it must be from you until we know that she is free from my father’s clutches, and take your son home for treatment amongst his own. You must find the Chief Ritualist without raising attention. Perhaps you can go to her chambers to ask for her assistance in the transport of your son. However you do it, she _must_ return with you and Aldis.”

“But not to Delthestica…” Brown started.

“No. You must come to Freyrusia,” Jared continued.

“Beyond the Radon Bands.” Brown’s face lit up like he finally understood.

“Exactly,” Jared grinned.

“So you have not yet returned. You did indeed complete your journey!” Brown clapped his hands, as if everything else was momentarily forgotten.

“I did.” Jared replied, smiling to the side at Jensen. “And it is my mate who has made it possible to contact you from beyond the Bands. And it is he who can cure Aldis.”

“My Lords,” Brown bowed slightly, “I must go. I have an important Comm to initiate. When do we meet?”

“I have but a moment more, premier, but what I have to ask is of the utmost importance. You have given so much, but I must beg of you and your loyalty once more.” Jared looked up at the monitor, even as everyone in the room fell silent.

“Anything, My Lord. You have only to ask,” Brown assured him.

“We require a Delegate, and with times as they are and battles looming on the horizon, I can only trust such a crucial decision to someone such as you. Would you be willing to give another from Delthestica to the aid of the Heir of Fayar?”

This time Premier Brown bowed deeply. When he stood again, he kept his eyes slightly lowered. “My Lord, it would be my honor. I will choose wisely and I will not let you down.”

“It would be my—our—honor as well. Thank you, premier. I will see you as soon as your fastest ship can reach Freyrusia,” Jared replied, struggling to find the words. That was quite unusual for him.

As soon as the vid-con clicked off, he looked around, and all faces were staring at him, Jensen’s included. Even if Jensen had no idea why everyone else was staring.

Pileggi broke the silence, “Okay, _Elite Ten!_ "


	8. Chapter 8

“This is useless!” Christian roared as he tossed his Disc to the side, listening to the clatter as it skidded across the floor. He grabbed the sides of his head and sank to his knees, he did not need to look up to know that all the targets he had focused his attention on, every single one, remained intact.

Megalyn stood before him scowling. “It is because you are not putting the strength of your emotions, your beliefs, and your devotion into your actions,” she scolded. She took a step back, drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Then she raised her weapon and fired. The beam of light exiting her Disc did not pulse as it normally would; instead it was a solid, blinding white ray that widened into a brilliant ribbon as it traveled.  Where it arced over Christian’s head it was nearly as wide as he was tall, and as it reached the targets set up on the practice range, it was at least five times that expanse, obliterating every single one. In just the split second that Christian could see the field of energy above him, he felt as if he was ensconced in the mouth of a cave behind a waterfall on the Risach, able to see the brilliance, feel the strength, but protected from the deluge above him and untouched by it.

“You only have to draw on the strength of your emotions to make this work,” she said, sliding the Disc into its sheath before reaching a hand out to help Christian to his feet. “Think of those you love, those who most need your concern and protection. It is then that it will work for you.”

Christian walked the few feet to where his Disc had come to a stop against a wall to retrieve the weapon and examine it for damage.

“We can try again later, fighter,” Megalyn said.  “For now, holster your weapon and let me show you some other techniques that are useful in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Other techniques?” He questioned even as he followed her instructions and came back to meet her in the now empty practice range.

“Put your hands up,” Megalyn began. And just as he did, she charged in, ducked under his right shoulder and grabbed him around his left thigh, lifting him in the air with a grunt and slamming him to the ground on his back before he could take a breath.

She followed him down, put her left knee in his abdomen and her left hand on his right shoulder, holding him firmly in place. “That is the best way to take a taller, heavier opponent down quickly,” she stated, barely panting. “Believe me, most people I fight are larger than I.” With that she bounced away and waited for Christian to gather himself and rise to his feet again.

“If you are trading punches and kicks, stay in close, you have the strength for it and it will detract from your opponent’s reach advantage,” Megalyn explained, again demonstrating as she spoke. “Low kicks can help eliminate a height advantage as well.” And with that, she swept behind his knee with her ankle, and Christian again fell to the ground.

“Do not assume a taller fighter will tire out faster, that is not always the case,” she continued.  “So stick to the skills that are your best. You are strong and your kicks are solid. You can take down the best of fighters if you stick to what you know and remember what I am teaching you. Now you try it.”

Megalyn stepped back and held her hands out to her sides, “Take me down.”

Christian stared at her for a moment before replying. “Why are you teaching me this? I have seen none that tower over me.”

The woman simply shrugged and maintained her stance. “It may come in handy one day, you never know. Now come on, take me down.”

______________________________

  
“Do not take this wrong, Jensen. Your presence in the agritory is always welcome, but why are we picking the leaves from the blue ovinarea bushes?” Misha asked as he looked down and cringed at how the leaves’ sticky blue sap colored his fingertips and seeped beneath his nails.  It would likely remain there for days.  


“It is one of the remedies for what might ail the prince’s friend,” Jensen explained, “Although there are many metals of the soil, there are but a few substances used to bind them and remove them from the body. I read about them in a book I discovered at Academy. I even took the book to my lab—”

“You had your own laboratory?” Misha looked up, startled.

“Well, not like your labs here,” Jensen replied, quickly looking away. “More like a cavern I dug beneath my father’s barn. But it was a lab to me.”

“I am sure it was amazing,” Misha reassured his friend. “And you built it yourself?”

“Mostly,” Jensen shrugged, “When I started, my friend Christian helped, but as I grew older and more interested in the sciences, and he more interested in fighting, it seemed that I spent most of my time there alone.”

“And it is there that you learned all of the things that you know?” Misha questioned, even as he continued to pick the disgusting leaves and rip them apart before placing them in the container Jensen had brought from the laboratory for that purpose.

“Not just there, I learned everywhere.” Jensen explained. “Everything I did taught me something new. It seems now that I was meant to learn it.”

“I believe that you were,” Misha agreed, a sly grin on his face. “And for some reason, my hands are meant to suffer for that knowledge!”

Jensen barked a laugh. “Poor Misha. The dirt beneath your nails does not bother you at all, but a little sap does you in!”

Both men were laughing heartily enough to miss the sound of the door sliding open. “It seems that things are going better in here than on the other side of these walls,” the prince commented.

Jensen rose immediately and looked around for a cloth to clean his hands. “Are you alright, Jared?” He asked. “You look as if your plans are falling apart.”

“Huh,” Jared chuffed, “I hope I hide it better when I am beyond this room. There is something about you that makes me forget who I am.  All that I am intended to be.” He sat down at a table near the door and signaled for Jensen to come nearer. As the younger man approached, the prince reached out and pulled Jensen down to sit at his side, slipping an arm easily about his waist.

“Perhaps you are simply comfortable with our council, My Lord,” Jensen replied softly.

“That is indeed true, but I believe it is more than just that,” he whispered against his mate’s ear, and smiled at the tiny shudder he felt travel down Jensen’s body. “Perhaps you feel it as well.”

“Umm-hmm,” Misha cleared his throat loudly. “What has you so upset, My Lord?”

“Oh, yes,” the prince looked up as Misha approached. “We have had terrible news interrogating the prisoners. I wish now that we had not reverted to conventional methods, but stuck to what worked in the first place.” He turned to his mate as he felt Jensen stiffen in his arms. “Do not worry, I am not changing our policy. We will continue to try other methods first, but in doing so we have lost valuable time. It seems that our primary candidate for contact with Freyrusia has been implicated in the web of treachery, and we are but two weeks from our destination.”

“So pick another,” Jensen shrugged. It seemed a simple enough solution to him.

“You do not quite understand,” Jared explained. “While we are on good terms with Freyrusia, it is not within our realm.”

“So?” Jensen replied.

“Ah, I think I understand,” Misha chimed in, to the prince’s relief. It seemed he was having a difficult time explaining the political atmosphere to his mate.

“I hope you can spell it out better than I.” Jared looked at the agrician hopefully.

“Between the Royal Vessel and all the escort ships, there are many people from many different planets in this caravan. But with Freyrusia outside the empire, finding someone with connections there is more difficult,” Misha clarified, looking to the prince to see if he had gotten it right.

“Precisely,” Jared agreed. “Lieutenant Heafey has an uncle who was a member of the Royal Guard. And as so many of the Guard do, he felt more comfortable taking his retirement there. It was a logical choice for her to make contact with the planet.”

“And now, you have no one?” Jensen asked, as the situation became clearer to him.

Jared shook his head. “That is why I am so late arriving. I thought you might have already departed for our quarters for the evening by now. We have spent the last many hours searching the officer database for anyone with even the remotest of connections to Freyrusia, and thus far we have come up empty handed.”

“I have a name,” Misha offered quietly. “If you can manage with someone who is not a soldier.”

“Who?” Jared rose immediately. “Who is it?”

“Just a simple shop worker. He was a Tradesman before, buying and selling his goods throughout the galaxy until his ship came under the attack of a wandering band of Nechi-Mou.” Misha explained. “He was lucky to get away in an escape vessel, but he lost all that he owned before landing safely and seeking temporary shelter on Freyrusia. He tells the greatest tales.”

“What is his name?” The prince asked, already lifting his Comm.

“Nemec, My Lord. His name is Corin Nemec. He works in the small supply shop outside the eatery on the fifth level. The one by the practice range.” Misha paused before he continued, meeting the prince’s stare. “I believe him to be a good man who has fallen upon unfortunate times.”

“Well, if you are right, the owner of that supply shop will have to work more hours, and your friend’s ‘unfortunate times’ will have come to an end,” the prince replied. He took a few steps away and spoke into his Comm, “General, I believe I have a solution to our problem. I will meet you in the Cen—“

“In the morning,” Jensen interrupted.

“What?” 

“You are overtired, My Lord,” Jensen put a hand on his arm. “I can see it even in how you stand. Your solution can wait until the morn.”

“I will meet you in the Center tomorrow morn, General, and we will discuss this turn of events then,” he spoke into his Comm. “It seems things are looking up. My advisors have once again proven to be very wise.” He smirked as he clicked it off, even as the general began to speak.

“Are you going to take care of me tonight?” Jared asked, once again wrapping his arm around Jensen’s waist and heading for the door.

“If you mean will I give you food, then yes,” Jensen responded, glancing self-consciously over his shoulder at Misha.

“Do not bother to worry about me, Jensen,” Misha reassured with a chuckle. “I already know what is in your head.”

Jensen frowned at that and hurried his steps. “We can finish with the ovinarea bushes in the morning. And after that, it will be the charinac vines.”

“And who is the tyrant now?” Misha called out just as the doors slid closed.

* * *

  
Jared nodded toward the guardsmen, and slid his hand down Jensen’s arm until only their hands were connected. It was much easier to walk that way. He smiled as he heard the familiar footsteps following along behind them. Three pairs of loyal boots. Three men he knew he could count on to keep his mate safe.  


“Tell me more about those plants. What do they do?” He asked.

“Of course, I cannot know what exact metal has affected your friend, the premier’s son. But as most react to only a few different agents, I thought it best to prepare for what metals I already know,” Jensen began. “Are there more books about Fayar, about the entire empire, elsewhere on this vessel?”

“Many,” Jared nodded his head. “You have access to only one of many libraries aboard this ship. And that access is granted to you simply because you are my chosen mate.”

Jensen looked up as they walked. “And the others? How might I gain access to them?”

The prince continued to walk as he pondered the idea. “I could bring you some books if you told me what information you seek, but free access would require the approval of myself as well as the Chief Ritualist.”

Jensen swallowed heavily, like he did every time he heard the words “Chief Ritualist” and himself referenced in the same sentence. “And would that approval require my…‘acceptance of my place?’”

“I do not know,” Jared mused, “I do not believe so, and certainly not on my part. While I yearn for the day you would grant me that gift, it is nothing I will ever hold as ransom over your head.” He squeezed Jensen’s hand softly, hoping to convey his sincerity. There was little else he could offer in the open corridor, at least that his mate would consider appropriate. “You have proven your loyalty to the people of both our worlds already. I would assume it is only your purity that the Chief Ritualist must assess, but the ways of the Ritualists are often a mystery to me.”

“And to you.”

“What?” Jared asked, not understanding Jensen’s comment at all.

“I believe my actions have proven my loyalty not only to our worlds, but to you as well. Although the gods alone know why it should be so.”

The prince wrapped his arms around his mate and lifted him from the ground, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “They _do_ know why! It is because you are mine! And since the time of King Julian, the gods plotted to create just one person who was my perfect mate. And that is you!”

Jensen could not stifle his laugh, even as he protested. “Put me down! I am trying to talk seriously with you!”

“Then do not distract me thus,” the prince warned, placing his mate on the ground and grinning at the guards who had suddenly taken three paces back, staring at the blank gray walls. “Perhaps I can find some books for you. They will not be written in Pershebian, so my assistance with the language may again come in handy. What knowledge do you seek?”

“I seek two things mostly,” Jensen said.  “First, it is imperative that I learn all that I can of the metals of the soils of your realm. I need to know if they differ greatly from my own. I doubt that to be true. If it were so, our plants would not grow so easily here.”

Jared nodded in agreement. “I can provide that information for you. What else do you seek?”

“The ways to defeat your father,” Jensen replied sincerely, stopping in his tracks and staring directly into Jared’s eyes. He did not allow himself to falter, even for a moment.

The prince fought hard to suppress his laughter; he had no intention of bruising his mate’s pride. “Leave that part to me. I am a warrior with many great battles under my belt. The general and I have made plans for this since the day we departed.”

“That is just it, Jared. So has he!” Jensen replied, raising his voice just enough to bring the prince to a stop, and then continuing in a much softer tone. “He knows you, knows what to expect from you, from the general, and from all your commanders. But throw some of my ideas into the mix, and he will have no clue what is coming. Right now, you are guided by anger and vengeance, betrayal and obligation. Trust me, this once, to guide you past that. I am no fighter.”  He laughed softly, lifting their joined hands and placing a gentle kiss upon the heir’s. “You have proven that to me time and time again. So when the time for battle comes, I promise to stay out of the melee.”

Jared drew in a breath, struggling for words even as the door of their quarters opened to admit them. “What can I say? I trust you,” he whispered against his young mate’s ear. “I will bring you what books you seek.”

Jensen smiled sweetly.  “Thank you, My Lord.” As the doors slid closed behind them Jensen guided the prince to the sofa. “Now it is time to rest. I was quite serious when I said you were overtired.”

“Is this another evening when I will remain _My Lord_ all night?” Jared asked plaintively.

Jensen was already crossing the room toward the table to grab a platter of food when he heard Jared’s comment. “Is there another appellation you would prefer this night?” He asked as he returned, a playful grin on his face.

“That depends,” Jared continued, his eyes tracking Jensen’s movements until he settled down at the prince’s side. “Do you intend to take care of me tonight?”

“I do, _My Lord_ ,” Jensen replied, offering a particularly savory morsel for extra emphasis.

“Does this care extend to a bath?” Jared asked as he accepted the tidbit.

“If you need such care, then I shall offer it. You have had a taxing day.” Jensen offered as an explanation.

“And a massage?” The prince added.

“I know nothing of such things.”  Jensen looked at the prince with a quizzical gaze. “But if you are willing to suffer at my awkward hands, I am willing to allow you to do so.”

“Then it is set,” Jared replied, as if all knowledge were known.

“What is set?”

“ _My prince_ ,” Jared continued. “You asked what I wished to be called this evening. If you are going to feed me, bathe me, tend to the aches in my muscles to the best of your abilities, then I want you to address me as your prince.”

Jensen leaned forward, dangling a sliver of meat in his fingers above the prince’s lips, even as his own lingered close to the prince’s ear. “ _My prince_ ,” he whispered.

_____________________

  
Christian smiled and greeted several officers of the Royal Guard as they passed. A few comments were exchanged and the three women and one man went on their way.  


“I see how they look at you,” Megalyn said from across the table. It had been a long week of training, and they both sat back, enjoying a meal and an afternoon off. “You tease them all, yes?”

Christian chuckled. “It is all in fun. Both ways, I believe.”

The woman stared at him for a moment before putting down her food. “You know, many would take you up on an offer. You are strong and handsome and new here. And service in the Royal Guard can be lonely. I suspect you share that loneliness as well.”

Christian frowned. “If you know my people as well as you say, then you know that where I am from, we choose just one. And that one person will provide the light for us in the Great Darkness that awaits.”

Megalyn studied him for a few minutes before she spoke again. This time she leaned forward, well into his space, and spoke with the intensity she typically reserved for their training sessions. “He is taken, fighter. It is time for you to choose another!”

_________________________

  
“Is it set?” Jensen asked when the prince arrived the next night.  


“Gods!” Jared swore. “With the exception of you, I have never seen a man fight his destiny so! You would have thought that we had asked him to swear fealty to Fayar rather than to simply make first contact with Freyrusia for us.”

“But it must seem the same to him,” Jensen added. “If he speaks for you, is that not the same as demonstrating his allegiance, at least to some degree?”

“I guess it could be construed as such. But he is on my ship, I should have his loyalty!” Jared swore.

“We have both seen that it does not necessarily work that way,” Jensen soothed, pulling the heir down on the cushions beside him. “Perhaps it is better to earn his loyalty as you have earned mine than to believe that it is your right.”

Jared turned to his mate, his eyes half closed and a grin curling at the edges of his lips. “You tease me more than you should. And no, your solution will not work. I do not wish to woo everyone aboard this vessel.”

Jensen sat back quickly. “I did not mean—”

“I know you did not,” Jared chuckled. “Sometimes it is the way you do not mean it that makes you the most alluring of all. Come closer again.”

Jensen sidled up against the prince once more. 

“So tomorrow we will contact Prime Minister Ferris,” Jared explained. “I expect to be in orbit in under two weeks now. That will leave little time for undue communications beforehand, even if she questions what is coming her way.” His expression turned serious.  “Make no mistake however, even though she is from Fayar, she has not called our world home for most of her lifetime. Her loyalty is more to Freyrusia and Pershebe than it is to Fayar.”

“Why Pershebe?” Jensen asked.

“She was once a promising officer of the Royal Guard, so I believe that is her reason for her commitment to your world. I do not know the reasons for her separation from the Guard. I only know that she had no desire to return to Fayar when she did. She made a career of politics on Freyrusia instead, and has been the best leader their world has ever known. They are better for her. And I believe we will be better for having her there.”

“That is good then,” Jensen replied, summing up the conversation in four short words, and then hesitating before he continued on to the topic that had plagued his thoughts for days, weeks even. “Jared, what is a Delegate?”

“You will learn soon enough,” the prince responded evasively. He reached to put an arm around his mate and draw the younger man against him.

Jensen pulled away before the prince could complete the gesture. He got up and moved toward one of the portals that looked out over space as they sped through it. Even now, weeks since he had seen the last of the plasma trails that painted a picture of new planet formation, potential new life, Jensen could look out as if the splendor remained before his eyes. It was a sight he would surely never forget.

“It seemed important when you spoke of it to the premier. And then again this morn, when you mentioned it to the general,” he whispered, his fingers sliding back and forth against the cool, clear panel before him.

Jared moved up behind Jensen, and again he reached to encircle his mate, gently leaning down to nuzzle at the nape of his neck. This time Jensen did not pull away. “It is important. I do not discount that. But I hope you will trust me just enough to believe me when I say that you are not ready for this knowledge yet.”

Jensen struggled to turn, and the prince loosened his grasp to allow him to do so. Slipping his hands between Jared’s body and his arms and setting them to rest on the swell of the prince’s buttocks, Jensen looked up to meet his mate’s stare. “You ask much of me.”

The prince did not break the connection. He looked into those entrancing, intelligent, innocent eyes, and replied with conviction, hoping to convey his sincerity and feelings in just a few short words. “And you have never let me down.”

Jensen let out a breath, and dropped his forehead to the prince’s chin. “I do not know Jared…”

“Last night you asked me to trust you in something that you have no experience in, but I promised that I would,” the prince spoke quietly. He reached a hand up to run it tenderly through his young mate’s hair, lingering at the nape of his neck to offer a few reassuring caresses. “Tonight, I am asking you to trust me in an area I have learned at least a little something about.  You.  Give me the chance to introduce this to you slowly, so that it becomes the happy, joyous event it should be, and not the chaotic experience of which nightmares are made.”

“So it does involve me?” Jensen pondered, his curiosity further piqued.

Jared tipped his head back just enough that he was not bellowing too closely to his mate’s ear before he let out a laugh. “No, Jensen, do not try. I am afraid you will need your precious elixir to get any more information from me. I have been interrogated by the general in the past, and if I can withstand that, I can surely survive an interrogation at your hands.”

Jensen pulled away then and walked back to the table. Jared had already brought him two books about minerals and metals of the soil. One was of Fayar, the other of Psaldrad. “So how old were you then?” Jensen asked. “When the general subjected you to such torture.”

“Oh, not torture, Jensen. That is truly not our way. I hope you have come to understand at least that much by now,” Jared replied, following after his mate. “I was twelve, I had stayed out past my curfew with some older trainees, and the general was intent on determining the evening’s affairs.”

“So perhaps he threatened to take away your privileges?” Jensen mused.

“He did, but that was never much of a threat to me,” Jared elaborated. “Despite being royal, I was raised among the ranks of the military since my tenth annum, and I was used to a much more austere life than most in my position.”

“And now, if _I_ threatened to take away your privileges?” Jensen grinned, looking up at the prince as if to make his point.

“Gods!” Jared hissed, grabbing Jensen around the waist and pulling them both down into a chair.  His mate landed in a straddle across his lap, with one hand splayed out before him to anchor himself against the prince’s chest.  “What happened to my shy, innocent young mate? What have you done with him?” When Jensen offered no reply, Jared acquiesced, his tone soft, “Alright, what is it that you would use against me?”

“I could sleep on the floor again,” Jensen tried to threaten, but it was lost in his own laughter.

“Would you threaten me thus?” The prince asked, turning serious despite his mate’s amused laughter. “Would you take away the comfort I find in your warmth? Because I will ask nothing more of you. I take only what you offer, and I give only what you ask, swearing each day that I will never again take any more. So truly, would you take away the solace I receive from your presence at my side?”

Jensen stared down at the prince’s face, stunned. He was afraid to say anything, so instead he simply shook his head. And as the prince began to relax again, so did Jensen’s tongue. “No,” he whispered. “I would not. I have grown accustomed to your presence as well.”

The hand that was planted solidly on the prince’s chest gradually gave way, and Jensen found himself closer and closer to that warmth. He was suddenly surrounded by Jared’s comfort and strength.

“Come now, love,” Jared whispered against his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Jensen turned his head and moaned as his lips met the prince’s. All the lights were extinguished save for the passing stars. 

“”Mmm, I _want_ ,” He mumbled against the prince.

“Tell me,” Jared whispered, pulling his mate away just enough to hear his words.

“No!” Jensen protested. “I want to feel you. Can you…can you just touch me?”

Jared groaned and shook off his daze. “Of course.” He stood and scooped Jensen up with him, moving to the bed in a few short strides. “I will get a cloth to soothe you.”

“I-I do not need soothing,” Jensen protested before Jared could depart for the bath.

“No?” Jared raised a brow, but returned to the bed, dropping to a knee and running a hand along his mate’s flank. “Then what is it you need?”

“My flesh burns, and it seems that your hands are all that soothes the ache deep inside me. I think you have cast a spell upon me.” Jensen moaned even as his hips moved toward the prince’s caress. “Perhaps it is not your cloth but your guidance I need. You asked for my trust this night, did you not?”

Jared could barely breathe. Such words! His heart was afire even if his mate had no idea what he offered. “I did,” he said. It was all he could manage for the moment. His hands worked better than his words, and he stripped his young mate and himself in a few brief motions. Once he had those moments to gather his composure he continued. “And I will take this time you have granted me to earn it.”

Jared leaned down, capturing those lips that always called to him in a passionate kiss as he covered Jensen’s body with his own. He trailed softer kisses down the younger man’s neck, and traced the ever-present chain with his tongue. His mate moaned softly when he felt Jared’s touch, and bucked up to meet the prince. Jared pulled back slightly, and looked at where his hands were. He tried, always, to be cautious of his left wrist when they were so involved. He did not want the sensation of the Arganthium over-powering Jensen’s own feelings. But just as he thought, his left hand still lingered near his mate’s hip, nowhere near the chain.

“Does this still cause you concern?” Jared asked, again tracing the fine chain with the tip of his tongue.

Jensen moaned again, and then blinked a few times before he realized the prince was asking him a question. He reached a hand up, and touched the metal himself. “Honestly, its presence barely registers in my consciousness most days. It is only when you show such reverence that it comes to the forefront of my thoughts.”

“So those lovely sounds you are making are all for me?” The prince asked, again trailing tender touches along his mate’s soft skin.

Jensen shook his head. “Gods, Jared! Must you question me now? Save your interrogation for the morn!”

Jared leaned back in to taste those luscious lips again before chuckling in response. “All right, my love. Lie back and trust me this night, then,” he whispered close to his lover’s ear. “Trust that I will do you no harm. Trust that I will make you feel good.”

As the prince’s words settled over him, Jensen sank further into the linens, allowing himself to relax and feel. He felt Jared’s hands explore his body. He felt Jared circle a finger around one nipple, following it with his tongue, and then slowly moving across to give the other equal attention. He arched up into the sensation as Jared’s fingers traced down to his navel and then lower. And before he realized what he had done, he felt his own legs spread apart to make more room—space to draw the prince in even closer.

All the while, their mouths parted only long enough for breaths or Jared’s occasional excursions lower.

“Gods!” Jared gasped, finally pulling far enough away to get a good look at his mate. Jensen sweaty, moaning and writhing in their bed, was a sight he never wanted to miss. “What you do to me!” He exclaimed as he reached to the table for the small vas that he kept there each night but had rarely had the opportunity to use.

The prince knelt between his lover’s legs, and tilted the bottle over Jensen’s erection. Jared watched as a few drops fell, landing in neat droplets along the length of his mate’s cock, before reaching down to spread the lubricant around evenly. And then he turned his hand and allowed a few more drops to fill his palm before placing the vas back where it belonged.

“Mmm…make you feel so good,” Jared whispered, again lowering his head to offer his lover a kiss before swirling his own fingers in the oil. Its mild fragrance would always remind him of Jensen. “Relax and enjoy.”

With one hand Jared stroked lightly along Jensen’s cock. And as his mate started moving with him, closing his eyes, and arching higher when Jared moved away, the prince nudged Jensen’s legs further apart, reaching lower with his other hand. “Do you remember how good it felt when you touched yourself here?” He asked as he tapped a finger gently against Jensen’s furled entrance before circling the finger lightly around it. “It will feel even better if you can relax and allow me to do so.” Jared emphasized his words with a few firm strokes on his mate’s cock.

Jensen said nothing, he simply continued making those sounds the prince found irresistible and moving up into Jared’s hand. Jensen’s hands gripped the sheets in tight fists.

Jared continued his movements, circling slowly and occasionally pressing down but never entering. “You have to tell me you want it, my love,” Jared whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

Jensen nodded frantically, canting his hips up. “D-d-do not…d-do not—” His words were cut off by another moan and a handful of panted breaths.

Jared stopped his movements immediately, and lifted his fingers away from Jensen’s entrance. Instead he focused one hand on Jensen’s cock, the other on his balls. “Never,” he whispered, “Not if it is not what you want.”

The change in sensation startled Jensen, and this time the groan he let out was one of desperation. “No!" He cried. “Why did you stop?”

This time, Jared was genuinely confused. “You said you did not want my touch.”

“No, no,” Jensen shook his head furiously. “D-do not hurt me. I was trying to say, 'do not hurt me'.”

Jared leaned down again and kissed his mate tenderly. “Never. Never again.”

As he let his hand wander back down, he did not pause for words, he simply relied on all that he had learned about his mate’s reactions to guide him. Again he circled the hidden entrance before pressing down on it firmly with a single finger. Each time that Jensen began to move up toward the digit, Jared moved to circle the opening again. His other hand resumed its task, but now he leaned down, and licked the crown, groaning as the taste of precome touched his tongue.

“M-more,” Jensen mumbled. “Please, Jared! More!”

The next time he pressed firmly against Jensen’s opening, he allowed his finger to sink in, the oil easing his way. The prince sucked the head of his mate’s cock into his mouth to distract him, but apparently the gesture was unnecessary—Jensen pressed down onto Jared’s hand and groaned. It took only moments for Jared to find that spot that would send sparks shooting through his mate, and again, Jensen pushed down into the sensation and then thrust up into Jared’s grip—his body caught in the pleasure offered by Jared’s hands.

Jared slipped the second finger in easily, and watched as the fire continued to build. It was not until he tried to scissor them apart, stretch his mate in the hope that he would accept more, that Jensen’s eyes flew open with genuine fear apparent in them. 

“Sshhh!” Jared reassured him immediately, resuming his previous strokes, and again pressing on that precious bundle that gave his mate such pleasure. “No more than this. Lie back and enjoy.  Just enjoy.” He grasped Jensen’s cock firmly again, and picked up his pace, matching his rhythm with the strokes he was applying within. 

“Jared!” Jensen let his head fall back onto the pillow and screamed.

“You want to come?” Jared asked, slowing just a bit.

His hands still twisted in the linens, his head moving from side to side, Jensen groaned out a barely audible, “Please!”

“Call me ‘your prince!’” Jared demanded.

Jensen blinked, opening his eyes enough to make out Jared’s features. “ _My_ prince!” he whispered.

Jared sucked Jensen’s cock into his mouth, pressing firmly on that spot inside him at the same time. He cupped his balls before pulling off long enough to make one more demand. “Come for me!”

Jensen bucked up once more. He screamed through his orgasm and his hands flew to the prince’s head, holding it in place as he spent himself in that warm, wet mouth.

“Gods!” He swore, still trying to catch his breath several minutes later. “I think you killed me.”

“A good way to go,” Jared grinned, licking his lips and then moving up to offer his mate another kiss. “A very good way to go.”

_______________________

  
“Argh!!!” Christian screamed in frustration. If the weapon had not become so dear to him, nearly an additional hand, he would have thrown it across the room as he had the Eliminator, but instead he shoved it forcefully into its sleeve at his side. “I fear I will never unlock these secrets!”  


He turned away from the woman and headed into the corridor without another word. His quarters were small, smaller than even those he was accustomed to as a Fighter on Pershebe, but they had become home to him, and offered at least some comfort. That was where he headed now. Food held no interest, nor did conversation, so he saw no reason to go to the dining hall for the evening meal. He could certainly brood alone.

“ _Dutos_!” He cursed, as his fingers typed the wrong code into the panel for the third time, locking him out and keeping him from opening the small portal that allowed him a glimpse out into space. It was just his luck. On this evening, when he had naught else to do, he would be able to stare at four walls and nothing more.

Suddenly, his door slid open without his scan. That had never occurred before.

“ _Dutos_?” Megalyn inquired, raising a brow as she entered. “You must indeed be upset. I have not heard you speak a word in Pershebian for weeks now, yet alone a curse.”

“Forgive me,” Christian bowed his head, it was never his intent for another to witness his lapse. “I thought myself alone. Why are you here?”

“Because this is not a time that you should be alone,” she began, bringing her hands out from behind her and displaying two platters of food. “You may not believe that you hunger, but you have worked hard today, and your body will still appreciate the food. Sit down, fighter.” And with that, she nudged Christian toward the bed, the one piece of furniture in his room. Placing one platter on his raised knees, she glared at him and demanded, “Eat.”

They sat in silence for several minutes before either ventured into conversation. Christian was unsure whether it was hunger or anger that held back his tongue: Hunger following the long days of pointless workouts, or anger over the woman knowing exactly what he needed after such fruitless efforts. But in the end, it was not he who broke the silence.

“Why do you think it is that you cannot conjure emotions strong enough to guide the Disc to do what it does for me?” Megalyn asked as she licked her fingers clean. “You certainly put the effort into it, I see it in your actions. There must be something else.”

Christian watched her for a moment and then looked away. “I do not know,” he answered honestly, sweeping a hand through his hair and pulling the loose strands away from his face. “I try to do what you say, I really do.”

“I believe you, Christian,” Megalyn said, placing a hand gently against his arm. “Tell me more about your family, about your parents, and then maybe we can find those happy memories that will trigger what motivates you, that place inside you where your devotion lies.”

Christian ducked his head lower, masking it with his hands. It was several minutes before he began speaking.  The woman remained silent, waiting. “I was different. Even amongst the orphans of Pershebe, I was different,” he mumbled between his fingers.

“Do not hide,” Megalyn pulled at his hands, smiling when he looked up. “You have proven yourself over and over again. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Tell me your story, fighter. And then I promise to tell you mine.”

Christian sat silently for some time, but when the woman took his hand and put it to her lips, kissing it tenderly, he was lost. No one had offered such comfort, not ever. Not Sarah, not Lucan, not even Jensen. This was an entirely new sensation.

“I was ‘the child of the villages,’” he whispered. “That is what they called me even before I knew my name. I remember little before I lived at Academy, but what I do remember is village after village, home after home. I had all parents and none. I thought I was favored, that I was special and that was why I was shared. It was not until I befriended a younger student whose spirit drew me to him, that I knew anything of what true parents were.”

Christian remembered the first day he saw the tiny child Jensen had once been starting Academy. Oh, Christian supposed he had not been much bigger at the time, but his eyes were not so large and innocent, and his heart was not so tender and easily bruised. Jensen had required protection, even then, and Christian was drawn to him from the start.

“At the Changing-turn break, he invited me to his home,” Christian explained. “That was my first real…family. They loved—love—me.”

“Oh, fighter!” Megalyn gasped, grabbing his arm tighter. “He is not meant to be your lover, he is your brother!” She snuck in closer, kissing his cheek. “They are not the only ones who love you. All of Pershebe surely does. Draw your strength from all that love.”

Christian turned his head toward her. “Just this one day, will you call me anything else?”

“I already did,” she replied softly against his face, raising a hand to pull his hair away from his lips and place it gently behind his ear again. “You just were not listening closely enough. Would you like to hear a part of my story?”

Christian nodded in reply, thinking no words necessary at that point.

“Okay then,” she exhaled sitting back.

“Not if you do not want to,” he said, not wanting her to continue if it was uncomfortable.

She smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. “I cannot think of anyone who deserves my story more than you do. It just is not easy for me, and all the details will not make sense, so I am going to give you the short course, hmmm?”

Again, he nodded. It seemed to be what she was looking for.

“I was born of privilege,” she began. “I am the daughter of the elite. My father rules an entire world. And my mother spent her brief life grooming me to marry a prince, but I had other plans.” Megalyn chuckled, thinking about all of the etiquette and music lessons that had been lost on her. “Instead, she ended up with a warrior princess. But my mother did not live long enough to see her dreams dashed.”

Christian leaned back against the wall next to Megalyn to offer support. He really had no words, so that was the best he could think to do.

“She passed on to her next journey when my brother was born. It is a shame that she was not able to see all that Aldis had to offer.” The woman was speaking to the wind now, so Christian just let her chatter on, hoping he would catch the important details.

The story came to a close, and even though Christian had listened intently all along, it seemed as if it had not been necessary, Megalyn summed up all the major points in the final few sentences. “So you see, my father, as the leader of Delthestica, has given his entire life to the empire. My brother, as the husband of the second in line to the throne of Fayar, has given his life to the empire. And I, as a life-long member of the Royal Guard, have sworn my commitment to the protection of the people of Pershebe, thereby giving my life to the empire.”

“Wow!” Christian looked over at her in amazement. “No wonder you can make that thing work!”

Megalyn started to laugh even as she grabbed his arm. “But my commitment is no greater than yours. You just have not figured it out yet.”

“I do not know,” Christian whispered as they drew closer.

“I believe you do,” Megalyn insisted, her expression growing serious. “And I will tell you why." 

Christian pulled back.

“The empire is at risk. The times are perilous. And the choices we make now are crucial.” The woman grabbed both his shoulders and stared straight into his eyes. “Any day now, the empire could fall, it might already have, and we do not yet know. If it has, it will not be a good thing, and even if you had wished wicked thoughts upon the prince, the end result for both Pershebe and Fayar will be unspeakable.” 

Even though she stopped talking at that point, Christian made no attempt to fill the void. There really was nothing for him to say. He was lost in this world beyond his own.

She took a deep breath. “Do you believe that if you fight for what you believe, fight for it all of your life, _with_ all of your life, that in the end, if that battle is lost, your life was for naught?” Megalyn looked up, hope and perhaps the gleam of tears in her eyes.

“No!” He exclaimed. Finally, a question he could answer with certainty. He grabbed her in a hug and pulled her close. “Of course not! If you believe in it, the fight will never die!”

She leaned forward, and he allowed her weight to push him down. Her lips touched his in a soft kiss, and the portal slid open, revealing the starlit sky.

“And that is why I believe in you,” she whispered against his lips.

_________________________

  
“So we are done here?” Misha asked, scrubbing as much of the black tarry substance from his hands as he could. “This is the last of the offensive substances the prince’s friend might require? May I go back to my beautiful trees and bushes now?”   


“And dirt,” Jensen replied, chuckling as he spoke.

“And dirt,” Misha agreed. “It washes off.”

“Yes, but…” Jensen’s voice trailed off.

“But what? Jensen? Where is your mind wandering to now?” Misha queried. 

“What? I am sorry, Misha. I was just thinking. I have a closetful of new clothing I do not recognize. Words I do not understand. And I do not know what to think.” Jensen turned to his friend. His smile gone, and Misha knew that it had only been for show in the first place.

“How long have you worried about these things?” Misha asked softly, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. “You have not mentioned it before, nor have I sensed such concern.”

“The prince asked me to trust him, and I did—do—but as time passes, and my wardrobe changes, I know not what to think.”

“Jensen,” Misha sat down, trying to pull Jensen down next to him.

“I cannot,” Jensen jerked away. “I have to meet with the general. And my books, I have to read my books.” He started toward the door.

“You have to take care of you, too,” Misha called after him. “Your books are no good without you.”

The door closed before he could say more.

____________________________

  
“Where is he?” Jared demanded. “He told me we would meet here.”   


“I am not his keeper,” Misha replied without raising his head. “I am his friend. He is not here.”

“What is wrong with you?” The prince replied, eyeing the agrician warily. “Have you lost your concern for him?”

“Of course not, My Lord! Have you?” Misha retorted, turning around abruptly. “He works too hard as it is, trying to do everything for everyone, and now he has to worry about his trust in you!

“You have replaced his clothes without telling him why. You have mentioned a Delegate, but refuse to tell him of her significance!” Misha roared. He was out of control, and he knew it. “And you wonder why he worries? I do not! Sometimes I wonder why he trusts you at all!”

“Watch your words, agrician!” The prince drew up to his full height and demanded regally. “Do I need to remind you who you are speaking to?”

“Ha!” Misha laughed, taking a stand as well, and actually daring to reach out and push the prince away. “Was it not you who said that I should have no fear of you, _My Lord_? Did you not, more than once, insist that my candor was imperative? But that only applies when it is convenient for you, it seems.” He turned to walk away before the prince could reply.

“Wait!” Jared called out. “You are right. Sometimes I forget my place. Thank you for the reminder.”

Misha put his head down and grinned before he turned back to the prince. “Well, as long as I do not end up in chains, I will do my best to remind you. For now though, I believe you are being unfair to your mate. He has dealt with so much already. Why would you hold this back from him?”

Jared sat back, a frown on his face. “I do not know. I just…honestly, I do not know. I guess I want him to be happy, even for a short time. What about you, Misha? You have been drawn into this with no training or foreknowledge. What makes you happy?”

The young agrician thought for some time before replying. “I think I will have to wait to answer that.”

_________________________

  
Jensen returned to their quarters early, rather than wait for Jared in the agritory. The week had been unsettling, and even though Jared had asked for his trust and he had granted it, that trust had become more and more difficult to give.   


First it was that word, _Delegate_ , the way people said it and looked at Jensen when they did. And even if it was only the Elite Council that said it, he was certain that Misha knew it, too. But he had not wanted to delve too deeply into the idea with his friend. Misha still worked for the prince, and it was a slippery slope after all. One he was not willing to ask his friend to head down.

And then it was the clothes. Nothing like he had seen on the ship before. None of the buttons at the neckline or wrists he had grown accustomed to. These new garments had not taken over his closet, they sat close to one side, but they were still there, loose and carefree at the neck and wrist. All cream colors and browns. None of the crimson and silver royal colors Jensen had grown used to seeing. And there were new boots, brown and nearly indistinguishable from the color of dirt. Nothing like he had worn here before. 

They were days from Freyrusia. Contact had been made. Jensen was not on the Command Deck when it occurred, but Jared had told him about it after the fact. They were due to transfer to the _Gratius_ the day after tomorrow. 

Jensen looked around the room as he tried to put the pieces of this new puzzle together. Was he to be left behind? Was that why he was being left out of things now? Why he had not been there when contact with Freyrusia was made?

Had his new life with the prince all been a ruse? He did not think so. What was the purpose of that? So if not, what else could it be? Did Jared think what lay ahead too dangerous? Jensen was nearly in a panic as his thoughts began to get the best of him. His eyes darted around the room, from the closet to the bath, to the portal looking out across space, to the bed they had shared for months now, to the table beside the bed, and finally to the drawer beneath.

Jensen ran over and dropped to his knees. He opened it and pulled out the crimson and silver box without a pause. Lifting the lid, he pulled out the medallion, holding it in his hand for the first time. His fingers trembled as he reached toward the chain around his neck.

___________________________

  
“Not yet, baby,” She whispered in her sleep, far, far from her home. “You are not ready yet.” She patted the pillow gently. “I promise, soon enough, but not yet, baby.”   



	9. Chapter 9

“Not again!” Misha threw down his cards, glancing down as they scattered across the table, before glaring at the former Tradesman sitting across from him. “I believe that you are making up the rules as you go along.” He looked toward Jensen to gain support. Unfortunately, the connection did not seem to flow as effortlessly from himself to the Chosen as it did in the other direction.

“It is a complex game, one that I learned along countless interstellar and intergalactic journeys,” Nemec countered. “Show me your cards, perhaps you still have more to learn.”

“And you are happy to take my hard earned _pentanos_ in trade for the lessons, I am sure,” Misha said, glancing sideways as Jensen eased his own cards facedown on the table.

“If it would make it easier for you to learn the game, I could simply play your hand for you, agrician,” Nemec grinned before glancing toward Jensen. “The Chosen seems to be holding his own.”

“ _The Chosen_ is not enjoying the brunt of your assault as I am,” Misha replied without delay. “Could it be that you fear the realm more fervently than you have led us to believe?”

“Hey!” Jensen exclaimed. “I am here, sitting at this table with you, and at least here, I am Jensen, not _‘the Chosen_.’”

Misha put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder and leaned forward, speaking in a muted tone, “You are always Jensen, but also, you are always the Chosen. I am sorry if it is sometimes difficult to understand.”

He pulled his hand back quickly when three workmen entered the dining hall. They were painters, Misha could tell by the splotches on their clothing and skin. Even with Jensen’s guardsmen just one table away, surreptitiously eyeing every unfamiliar face, the agrician still felt himself tensing when someone new approached. And that happened on an hourly basis these days.

They had been aboard the _Gratius_ for two weeks now, and the air was thick. The distance between the prince and his chosen had been growing wider and wider as the days passed, and their resistance was not easing with time. It was an impasse neither man appeared capable of breaking. 

The prince confided in Misha more and more as time moved forward. And Jensen, as strange as it sounded, seemed to have found a stalwart ally in the general. The last four days aboard the Royal Vessel had been trying, with Jensen escaping both Jared’s and Misha’s company to spend the remaining time he had on the vessel with gruff old General Beaver. And even now, they still talked by private Comm at least once each day.

It seemed as if the Pershebian had donned a new persona with his new wardrobe, and could not find happiness, even for a moment, in his life with the prince. And each day, as the distance grew thicker, Misha felt the weight of his burden grow heavier.

It was only at times like these, the last hour or so that they had spent in the company of the Tradesman, the man who had contacted Freyrusia on behalf of the prince, that Misha felt even the slightest of reprieves. During the learning of these new games or the telling of Nemec’s fantastical tales, Misha could forget just how challenging his reality had become. He remembered the prince asking him once what might make him happy, and now it seemed like the concept was becoming more and more distant to him: A wisp of a memory that he might never regain. But Nemec did know the best games and told the finest stories. They even made Jensen smile. Those smiles lightened Misha’s load ever so slightly, so this new friendship was a welcome one. One Misha was grateful for, even if it cost him a handful of _pentanos_. 

“The painters are retitling the _Gratius,_ ” Nemec said, nodding toward the newcomers. He was answering some question of Jensen’s that Misha had missed in his ponderings. “It will be named the _Happenstance_ until it departs Freyrusia.”

“How do you know?” Misha interjected.

Nemec’s eyes bulged as he choked on his drink. And then he slammed the cup down on the table, pounding a fist against his chest. “I looked out my portal and saw the word for myself,” he said once he had caught his breath. “Why would you doubt me?”

“I have heard—” Misha started.

“Why change the name?” Jensen interrupted, looking toward Misha for the answer. Misha sighed. If only the Pershebian realized how little his simple agrician friend actually knew.

“It cannot be a royal fleet vessel seen docking in Freyrusia.” Nemec answered instead, oblivious to Misha’s concerns. “Surely you know that.”

Jensen nodded. “Yes, I remember the general saying as much.” He drew in a deep breath and focused on the Tradesman, “Is it true that you were attacked by the Nechi-Mou?”

“It is,” Nemec agreed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “They attacked out of Suraan, well past the Bands, and caught me unawares. I was fortunate to be in range of Freyrusia when I was forced to jettison.”

“What were they like?” Jensen asked. This time it was Misha who sat back, watching silently as the interaction unfolded.

Nemec’s voice lowered, and he leaned closer to the Chosen, a scowl on his face. Jensen eased in as well. “They are fierce fighters, who revel in battle and take pleasure in pain and mayhem. They can only fight in groups, for while they are fearless, the tallest of them stand but midway up my chest.”

“No!” Jensen gasped, pulling back momentarily before Nemec used a finger to suggest he should come closer again. 

Misha smirked. At least there were some truths that he knew, and this was not one of them.

Jensen edged closer warily.

“Yes,” Nemec said. “They prefer primitive weapons, but use whatever they retrieve from their victims when they must. Every Nechi warrior carries an axe with an haft as long as he is tall. It is said that they forge a new axe on each ascension, even if they gain but an inch.”

“No!” Jensen repeated, his eyes growing wide. 

Misha had to turn his head to mask his grin.

“And each seasoned warrior has a beard that brushes the ground as he walks,” Nemec continued, the story growing like those whiskers as he told it. “The older ones twirl it around their shoulders to keep from tripping on it in battle. They say their chin hairs sprout the day they take a woman to bed and they never trim them in this lifetime. Do you know what that means?”

“What?” Jensen asked, entranced.

“It means, my prince, that if you were one of the Nechi-Mou, your chin would never see a hair!” 

With that, both the Tradesman and the agrician erupted in laughter, and soon after, Jensen joined in, even if Misha saw the unease flit across his face first. 

Those momentary expressions, those fleeting feelings that Misha sensed, made the agrician wonder, occasionally, what the Chosen’s life would have been like had the prince not intervened. Would Jensen have had a wife and children of his own? Might he have settled into a life on Pershebe much like his father before him? Or would he have taken up with the Fighter he had mentioned to Misha once or twice during their time together in the agritory? But now it did not matter; those decisions had been taken out of his hands. And in Jensen’s eyes, Misha imagined, the young Pershebian had no choice but to remain the whiskerless Nechi-Mou. 

Misha smiled now, though. He did not sense that it was bothering Jensen. Perhaps that was one part of his life the Chosen had come to terms with, for the most part at least. 

And it was only here, in the games and tales of the Tradesman, he thought, that the chosen mate of the Heir of Fayar found laughter now. With the operations of the Royal Fleet consigned wholly to the general, the older man had remained behind, and the Chosen had few he could rely upon as his confidence faltered.

“Do not call me that,” Jensen said when they finally stopped laughing. “I do not wish to be a prince.” His fingers shuffled the cards around the table idly.

“But you are, or will be soon enough,” Nemec said. “Most who are do not choose to be. It is simply by design.”

“As you were meant to be unshipped by the Nechi-Mou?” Jensen asked.

Nemec tilted his head in thought. He gathered and dealt the cards again, this time leaving Misha out. “Apparently I was.”

Jensen put his hand up. “No more. I am going. No offense, my friend, I simply desire to be alone now.”

Nemec nodded in acknowledgment, and Misha watched as Jensen left. The three loyal guardsmen departed shortly after, doing their best to appear casual as they trailed behind their ward. They were practicing for their voyage to Freyrusia, where no one would know the Chosen on sight. Clandestine surveillance was best there for some reason that Misha did not understand. He left those details for the military men to decide. He was just a friend.

Jensen felt okay to Misha as he left the dining hall. That was enough for him.

____________________

  
The dull metal walls were cloaked in silence and darkness whenever Christian entered the practice range now. Cries of shock and surrender followed his departure, for he had learned from the woman to practice on “Stun One” or not at all.  


__

_A victory feels hollow if a warrior does not feel the power of his win._

Christian felt the power in each battle, but now the words themselves were hollow: There was no victory. He had lost his dearest friend, his brother even, on the bank of the Risach two quarter-turns earlier. And now the woman was gone. What had seemed a victory, a glorious victory, a joining of two warriors with a common purpose and a common heart, had turned disastrous. One night, he felt whole, united and complete, for the first time in his life. The next morning, he was alone, never to see her or feel joined again.

No one aboard Benedict’s vessel could defeat Christian in single combat now. Few could best him even two against one. He had faced every fighter willing to step forward. He was not afraid. What did he have to lose, after all? 

_ Benedict’s vessel _ , Christian mused. That is what he had come to call it. He never learned the name of the ship he travelled upon, though he tried. He laughed at himself about that until his throat was raw and bloody, and even lemoned and honeyed water did not soothe it when he was finally told that none of the Royal Guard vessels carried names. Apparently, they were above that standard. Who knew?

The door slid open behind him, and then closed again a moment later. If Christian was not attuned to the sound, he would not have been prepared to make the sudden turn needed to face his newest foe.

“Draw!” He growled into the darkness. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he tilted his head back just far enough to keep the moisture out of his eyes.

“If I draw, you will die, that is a certainty,” Benedict replied. “You are here nearly every moment of every day. You do not eat. You do not sleep. That is what I am told. If it is the Great Darkness that you seek, I can make it a much simpler course for you. If that is your desire, then _you_ draw.”

____________________

  
“We can dock in the morn, My Lord,” Major Parrack said as he put the Comm back in its dock.  


“Hmm?” Jared questioned. He was looking out through the front viewing portal into space, thinking about the events of the past two weeks, or nonevents, more like. Little had happened between himself and his mate.

“We can land on Freyrusia tomorrow,” Parrack clarified. “The vessel has been renamed and the royal colors covered. The _Gratius_ is now simply a tradeship, albeit a large one, until she departs Freyrusia again.”

“Good,” Jared replied, picking up a remote Comm and walking out. “That is good.”

“Do you want me to make the arrange—?”

The door slid shut behind the prince before Parrack could complete his question. Jared thought he might turn back and respond before he contacted the general privately, but there was time to make docking arrangements later. For now, he would speak to the general, maybe even Misha, and then he would seek out his mate.

The corridors aboard the _Gratius_ were the same dull, monotonous gray as the ones on the Royal Vessel, with the same combination of warm and cool components that Jared had never noticed before he met his mate. They were narrower though, and shorter. Jared had grown accustomed to the comfort of the Royal Vessel over the past two plus annums, but he was a warrior with years of service aboard fighter-class ships, so it was easy to slip back into a life with less comfortable accommodations.

He wondered if it seemed strange aboard the _Gratius_ for Jensen, as the Royal Vessel had been the only ship on which his mate had ever travelled. If it did, Jensen was not talking to Jared about it. He might have told Misha or the general, the Tradesman, or even Major Parrack, as the younger officer had taken an interest in the games with the Tradesman whenever he was off duty and was fast gaining an appreciation for Jensen’s quick wit and intelligence.  But Jensen was not confiding such details to Jared. 

No, lately his conversations with Jensen were perfunctory. While the Pershebian remained calm and polite—distant might be a better word—and answered Jared’s questions without hesitation, he asked none of his own. Jensen would meet him in their quarters each evening to discuss the events of the day, but there were no more deep, thoughtful inquiries about Jared’s past, about his world or his obligations. Jensen did not ask about the Delegate anymore or what to expect after Freyrusia. He seemed to have lost all his desire to explore. And that, perhaps, was what hurt Jared the most. It seemed as if his mate had lost his spark and Jared was the cause.

“Ouch, _dut_ —!” Misha shrieked, as he turned the corner and barreled head first into the Heir’s chest. “Oh, sorry, My Lord.”

Jared laughed; it was a good feeling and helped lift his dismal mood. He snapped out a hand to steady the smaller man. This was not the first time Misha had run into him. The agrician was having a difficult time adjusting to the narrower hallways. “It is okay, Misha,” he smiled. “I believe you suffered more than I. Are you alright?”

Misha grinned. “I fear my head will not stop pounding until we leave this vessel. If I am not running into your chest, I am colliding with some crewmember’s head. If I do not kill myself, I will surely do someone else a grave harm.”

The prince put both hands on his knees and guffawed. He backed against the hull and tears welled in his eyes before he could silence it.  It might have been the exaggeration, or perhaps Misha’s delivery, but whatever it was, it struck a chord with the Heir, and he found it difficult to curtail his laughter.

Misha stared at him quizzically. “Are _you_ alright, My Lord?” The agrician asked.

“I believe I am, Misha,” Jared said. “Where is Jensen? I thought you were playing games?”

“We were,” Misha agreed, raising a hand to rub his forehead. “Nemec would likely have taken the last of my _pentanos_ if Jensen had not decided to end the game. He left to spend some time alone. He has done that more and more these last two weeks.”

“He has. But all was okay?” Jared asked. He did not have to be specific, the agrician knew what unique insight Jared was seeking.

Misha hesitated. “If you mean did all feel well with him, it did. But My Lord, I do not know if all was okay. You know that, do you not?”

Jared nodded, grabbing Misha’s arm and heading back in the direction from where the agrician had come. “We should eat. Then I will contact the general about docking tomorrow. And then I will find my mate. Will you eat with me?”

Misha stared at the prince. “We are docking tomorrow?”

____________________

  
Jensen set his book aside, rubbing his eyes. The library was smaller aboard the   
_Gratius_ , but it made little difference. Those books that occupied his time and mind, he had brought with him. He simply preferred studying them here.  


He had forgotten how much he cherished solitude, and he was quickly reacquainting himself with it. Some days, he wondered why the prince had not taken this away from him along with his royal clothes and his confidence, but perhaps it was the prince’s way of easing the transition. And it was working. Jensen enjoyed his time alone, looked forward to it even. Still, he reached into the pocket of his loose-fitting brown pants to run a finger along the outline of the medallion. It reminded him of something, he just was unsure of what exactly that was. It offered a strange sort of comfort.

The day they departed the Royal Vessel, Jensen made his excuses to return to their rooms. It was easy. He had several books there, and Jared indulged him when he declared that he would not board the transport without the one he had left behind. He did pick up a book, but it was the medallion he had returned for.

That had only been a few days after the disembodied woman’s voice cautioned him against attaching it to his chain. And he had heeded her advice. He had heard her again in his dreams a couple of times since then, reminding him.  But the voice never said not to put it in his pocket. Not to keep it close. 

As his fingers traced from cool metal to smooth gemstone, he wandered to the portal and looked out. Every few days he had the proper angle to see Freyrusia from here, looming in the distance.

“I thought I would find you here,” Jared said as he entered. “What are you doing?” He walked to his mate and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

Jensen turned his head for a moment and smiled wistfully. “Look,” He pointed out the portal, “It is huge!”

“What were you expecting?” Jared asked, wrapping his arm lightly around Jensen’s waist and rocking them slowly together. “It is the ‘Gateway Beyond the Bands.’ All who seek to discover what is beyond the realm must pass through here. Their support would be most beneficial to us.”

Jensen turned all the way around this time, eyeing Jared warily. “You mean critical.”

Jared leaned forward and nuzzled at his mate’s neck. “Hmm?” He whispered vaguely.

Jensen put his hands on Jared’s chest and pushed, not enough to gain his freedom, just enough to garner the prince’s attention. “If Freyrusia is the gateway. If it is as large as it appears, and if your father has had not just the time you have been gone, but nearly your entire lifetime to plot against you, I would up Freyrusia’s level of importance from ‘beneficial’ to ‘critical’, _My Lord_.”

Jared sobered. He pulled his hands away from his mate and stood silently for a moment. “You may be right, but it is never good to let a potential ally know how important they are to you. You will lose your advantage.”

“Is _that_ how it works?” Jensen asked, quirking a brow. “Maybe you are using the wrong tactic. Perhaps if you let him know that he is invaluable, that you trust him with your secrets, he will forever be your devoted supporter.”

“I wish it was so simple. Oh, and the prime minister is a woman, you should remember that,” Jared chastised. “We will be docking tomorrow, it will be an early day with many preparations to make. Come, it is time for bed. Did you eat?”

“I did remember the prime minister was a woman, and I did eat,” Jensen said. “Sometimes the simple way is the best, Jared. You should try it.”

The prince smiled indulgently and led his mate to their rooms.

____________________

  
Christian did not draw. Instead, he dropped his Disc and fell to one knee. Weeks had passed without a personable touch or hint of conversation. These few words that Benedict offered were all he had heard other than the rote “draw” and “submit” he received from each new opponent.  


“I am truly lost,” Christian admitted. “I believed I had found my Path. For one brief night the light shined bright before me, but in the morning, it had vanished, and my Path was dark.” 

Benedict lowered his own weapon and offered his hand. He smiled softly when Christian looked up at him. “Then come with me, and let us see what we can discover.”

He followed the commander down a long corridor and up a shuttle to another one. Neither man said a word as they traveled. The hallway was clear, and each time it seemed that someone was approaching in the distance, said Royal Guardsman disappeared through some door or down some corridor before they neared. It was an eerie feeling. Even in the weeks since the woman disappeared, Christian had not felt shunned. His separateness was self-imposed, in his estimation.

And how strange was that? That now that she was gone, all he could think to call her was “the woman.” She was no longer Megalyn. Or Meg as he had shortened it during battle a few times, much to her displeasure. Or even _warrior princess_ , which he had called her more than once during their night together. She had liked that one. Now, in her absence, she was just “the woman.”

They stopped before a control panel long enough for Benedict to scan in. The door opened and revealed a large room with a huge viewing portal overlooking space beyond. It was ten times as large as the one in Christian’s room, at least. He stared out, stunned.

“Sit,” Benedict urged, pointing to one of the couches and sitting down across from it on another. Once Christian followed his order, the commander continued, “This has been difficult for you, that I understand. You are a long way from your home. But it seemed like you were doing well, Fighter: learning the language, the weapons, the fighting styles. You appeared to be adjusting, maybe even finding happiness. What happened? When did it change?”

“When I lost her,” Christian whispered. Part of him tried to say _them_ , but that was not correct. This was not about Jensen, not right now. He missed his friend deeply, but this downward spiral started once he had made his connection and then lost it. That only happened once in a lifetime, and now it was out of his reach.

Benedict stood up then, he walked across the room and poured two drinks from a pitcher on the counter. When he returned and offered one to Christian, the fighter refused it. Benedict set it upon the table before the young man and resumed his own seat. He stared at Christian for a few minutes before he continued.

“What makes you think you ever had her?” He asked solemnly.

Christian jerked up, startled by the words. “She came to me,” he replied. “I did nothing to force myself upon her. She came to my room. She leaned forward and pressed her body against mine. _She came to me!_ _”_

“I am not fighting with you, nor am I debating the point, Christian,” Benedict replied, his voice pale and even. “I am merely asking you a question. Surely you know the standards held by the Royal Guard. Do you not?”

Christian nodded.

“And if you know that each member of the Royal Guard has committed himself or herself to lifelong service, to the protection of Pershebe, you must know that keeps each of us from taking a spouse, from marrying, from having a family?” Benedict leaned farther forward, ever so slightly, with each phrase, as if to solidify the meaning.

“No,” Christian whispered, “I-I did not know. I did not think…”

“Sometimes emotions betray us, Fighter,” Benedict consoled. “And Megalyn’s emotions did just that. To her, and to you as well, I fear. She has asked me to beg your forgiveness, as she is afraid to face you right now. It would be too painful for you both. Will you grant her that? Will you give her your forgiveness and allow you both to start anew?”

Christian glanced down at his drink, sitting pristinely on the table. He had not touched it, but now seemed like a good time. He needed those moments to gather his thoughts. Benedict did not look like Serkan, the Chief Elder of Pershebe, and he did not sound like him, but the meaning behind his words was amazingly similar: Conform.

He grabbed the vas and sat back against the smooth, cool fabric. Christian’s face twisted in a wry smile—his sweat was probably ruining it. He took a sip and then another. He stared across to where the commander sat, awaiting his response.

“You seem less lost,” Benedict observed.

“I am,” Christian replied. “You have given me a new perspective.” He took another sip. It kept him steady.

“Does this mean that I can deliver news of your forgiveness to my second-in-command?” Benedict pursued. “It would give her much relief.”

“No,” Christian replied coolly. He stood and walked to the door. “No one can receive forgiveness for another.”

“She deserves your forgiveness, Fighter,” Benedict called from his place on the couch.

Christian looked over his shoulder. “Perhaps. But _your_ words mean nothing to me. Let me out.”

Benedict rose and scanned the panel.

____________________

  
“Are you still reading?” Jared asked from the bed. He curled his back and strained his neck to get a better look across the room at his mate. Jensen remained huddled up at one end of the sofa, under the tiny light, with his face pressed closely to the pages of his book.  


“Yes,” Jensen said without looking up. He licked a finger and used it to turn the page.

Jared huffed out a loud breath. “You have no need to memorize them, you know. You may keep the tomes and reference them later. Come to bed now.”

“Is that a command?” Jensen lowered his legs and turned to make eye contact this time.

“Has it come to that, my love?” Jared inquired softly. He sat up in the bed and let the silken sheets fall to his waist. “Would you rather curl in the arm of the couch for the night than in my own? Must I command you to join me in our bed rather than simply ask for the comfort of your warmth?”

Jensen placed the book down on the table beneath the light and crossed the cool floor in his bare feet. He raised the sheet and lay down next to the prince, turning so that his back fit close to Jared’s chest as the prince reclined once again. All without uttering a word.

“Mmm,” Jared mumbled, turning to nuzzle the fine hairs along Jensen’s neck. His hand grazed along his mate’s flank, exploring with gentle caresses and arousing soft squeezes. “What do you want?”

Jensen’s hand closed over his and held it still. “It is late, My Lord. And you will have a long day tomorrow. We should sleep.”

The prince rolled onto his back and sighed in frustration. There had not been a night ending any other way since they had boarded the _Gratius_. When his mate did not turn to console him, Jared allowed himself to drift off to sleep. The morn truly would herald a long and tiring day.

____________________

  
“It is dark in here,” the woman’s voice echoed off the walls.  


Christian sunk to the ground, his weapon abandoning him to the right. He had finally lost it. He heard her voice in his dreams every time he closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep, and now he heard it even as he awaited his next opponent. 

Fingers glided across his shoulder and gently brushed his hair away from his neck.

The fighter looked up to see the woman standing above him much as she had appeared that first day.

“It is dark in here,” she repeated in a hush. “Do you prefer to fight in the dark now, or do you hide from the light?”

Christian stood, his hands reached out tentatively, as if he was certain that the mirage before him would disappear the second he breached its edge. “I do not hide from the light,” he said as his fingers touched the flesh of her shoulder and curled around it. “I lost my light. It vanished from my bed before I woke, and I have not seen it again until this moment.” He pulled her close and breathed her scent in deeply.

“Oh, Fighter! What have I done?” Megalyn cried. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders despite her words, and as Christian lifted her face into a kiss, he felt the sting of warm tears against his cheek; tears that for the first time in two weeks were not his own.

They stood together for long minutes, touching and kissing. Remembering the feel of each other’s bodies as they had only experienced the one night. Christian closed his eyes and saw more light than he had seen in the entire time since her departure.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her lips.

“No,” Megalyn shook her head, sniffling and pulling away. “This cannot happen. I came to ask you to let me go. To forgive me for what I—what transpired between us. It should never have happened.”

Christian stared for a moment. It was easy to do, he had not realized how much he liked to look at her until he could not see her anymore. And then he shifted his gaze around the room. It was too cold, too callous here. This was not where he wanted to talk. Even if it was the last time they spoke, this was not the place where they should do it.

“Come to my room,” he said, offering a hand.

“Christian—” she began.

“To talk. Only to talk. This is a room to fight. It is not a place for discussion. Come with me.” Again he offered his hand. This time she took it.

“We can go to my rooms then,” she replied. “There is more room to…talk.”

____________________

  
Jared rose the second his Comm chirped. It was a familiar sound, as familiar as an alarm to the prince, but Jensen remained oblivious.   


“General, give me a minute,” he whispered. He donned his robe and turned to stare at his sleeping mate. Even if Jensen did not come to him awake, he clung to the prince in his sleep, and Jared loved the feeling of extracting himself every morn. Things might be uneasy between them for the moment, but they would smooth out soon. Jared was certain of it. He grinned, watching as Jensen turned in his sleep and reached an arm out seeking the prince’s heat, and then he slipped out the door.

“Okay, General. Is everything prepared?” Jared asked.

“Commander Pileggi has transferred to the _Gratius_ already this morn,” General Beaver began his report. “He is the only commander that will attend you until firm communication with the prime minister is established.”

“I do not believe I need to be ‘attended,’” Jared interjected.

“Alright! He and Parrack will be the only officers on the landing crew who are familiar with the circumstances of the mission. Is that clearer?” The general asked.

“That sounds better.”

“Gods!” General Beaver swore. “Between you and your mate I think I will lose my mind. I will not watch my words around you, _My Lord_ , not today, not any day. And if it comes down to the day you need that from the Commander General of the Fayarian Army, you will need to find another man!”

“General!” Jared roared. “Enough! There will be no other Commander General while you still desire the position, and I do not wish for you to hold your words. That would be a detriment to all of the Realm of Fayar. Now can we resume the briefing?”

“Rhodes will remain behind on the _Gratius_ , she will be needed to maintain communication between your base on Freyrusia and the fleet,” Beaver continued without hesitation or mention of the previous disagreement. “Atmospheric conditions are favorable for berthing before the midday. If you dock much later, the winds may be too fierce for a vessel the size of the _Gratius_ , and you may need to postpone another day.”

“We have waited long enough. Everything will be in order hours before midday,” Jared assured. “How are our prisoners?”

The general sighed. “They are the same. No new names. No new confessions. Without the elixir, we have made little progress in the interrogations.” 

Jared sat silent for a moment.

“He comms me every day, Jared,” Beaver continued. “Gods, I have spent more time in an agritory in the last two weeks then I have in my entire life just to tell him those damn little bushes are still green and covered with tiny balls. I am pretty sure the last Commander General did not spend his tactical and strategic planning time staring at plants.”

Jared laughed. “He just needs the reassurance.”

“He needs confidence,” the general countered. “He needs to know he can rely on someone. That is the only reason I drag my ass to that agritory every day, I assure you. Once you dock, Brown will establish communication as soon as he has crossed the Bands, as we discussed. When are you going to tell the boy?”

“I cannot,” Jared admitted. “I just cannot. I have tried. I have started the conversation a dozen times, but it just gets harder and harder. More than half the time he seems to have little interest in what I say, or anything else for that matter.”

“And why do you think that is?” The general demanded.

“I know not.”

“You are an idiot!” Beaver exclaimed. “The Gods know I love you, but damn! He thinks you have no faith in him. He believes that you are hiding things from him, and you are. How would you expect him to respond?”

“I asked him to trust me,” Jared defended.

“He is trying, Jared. He really is trying,” Beaver said. “But you need to tell him before he hears of it from someone else.”

“Not yet.”

____________________

[Chapter Eight, part II/II](http://spn-j2fan.livejournal.com/25364.html)

The door sliding open, or shut, awakened Jensen. That did not normally happen, so it must already be late in the morn. He moved his hand back and forth across the bed linens and found Jared’s place already cold. Jared must have risen sometime ago, and now he was leaving without saying a word. Jensen rolled over.

“It is time to rise,” Misha said.

“Misha!” Jensen gasped. He pulled the sheet up around his neck before sitting.

“Relax, Jensen,” Misha replied calmly. “All your body parts are the same as mine. I am not interested in seeing them. The prince has gone to the Command Deck to assist in the docking procedure and asked that I come here to help you prepare.”

“I do not require assistance dressing, Misha,” Jensen scowled. “I have been capable of that task for many years now.” 

“You misunderstand me,” Misha explained. “We are landing soon. You were still sleeping. It was either the Keepers or I to awaken you. Would you have preferred it to be them?

Jensen let the sheet drop. “No. I prefer it to be you.”

Misha’s eyes grew. “Jensen! You are fully clothed! What was your concern?”

Jensen looked down. “You do not come in here. No one does.”

Misha sat on the very edge of the bed, reaching out and lifting his friend’s chin. “You should not be ashamed to be here, Jensen. Or to be seen here. Are you?”

Jensen shook his head to loose it from Misha’s fingers. “I do not know. I was fine; well, I thought I was fine. But now I simply do not know.”

“Nothing has changed, my friend,” Misha said. “You are the same. The prince is still devoted to you. We are simply in a different place.”

“It feels like more than just that,” Jensen replied.

“It should not. But now you must prepare for the day. I’ve laid out an outfit for you to wear for our departure. And the Keepers have brought you a meal.” Misha smiled as he gestured to the table.

Jensen groaned. “Is it not bad enough that you saw me in my bed, Misha? Now you want to dress me as well?”

“Not dress you,” the agrician assured him with a smile, “I am certain you are capable of that task. I simply set the garments out for you to hasten our farewell.”

Almost as if Misha had timed it, the door chimed with another visitor as Jensen donned his second dirt-colored boot.

“It is Major Parrack,” Misha told Jensen over his shoulder as he peeked out the viewing aperture.

“Let him in,” Jensen huffed after checking his attire. “This seems to be the gathering spot today.”

“My Lord,” Major Parrack inclined his head slightly as he entered, his hands were extended. He held out a burnt sienna charmeuse scarf that complemented the earthy tones of Jensen’s outfit, but in no way matched the simple, loosely woven fabrics. “The prince asked me to bring you this. He does not want your status revealed too soon.”

Jensen stared at the major. The officer was clad head-to-toe in royal crimson and silver. Every button was fastened and every seam pressed. Impeccable. Glaringly royal. While he himself was meant to remain invisible. “I see,” he muttered, accepting the scarf and heading to the bath to don it.

“You do not.” Misha hurried along at his side.

“I will meet you both outside,” Major Parrack called after them.

* * *

  
Jensen held the railing the entire way down, just as the Tradesman cautioned. He did not remember leaving Pershebe, it felt like a lifetime ago, but these past two hours seemed the most precarious of his life. One moment, the ride was smooth, the next, they were swept to the left or right without warning.  


“Where is Jared?” Jensen asked Misha again.

“He is on the Command Deck, I am told,” Misha repeated.

“This is a difficult landing,” Nemec explained with a smile. “Few vessels of this size land on Frey.”

“Frey?” Jensen asked before his stomach sank with another swell. The Tradesman was not affected.

“It is an affectionate term,” Nemec replied, smiling softly even as the shipped tilted. “Those who love her, think of her fondly. Freyrusia saved me. Your prince, and both Commanders Pileggi and Rhodes are all required on the Deck to make this landing. It will not happen without them.”

Jensen looked toward Parrack who was standing near the hatch. He was uncharacteristically silent, pensive, and obviously nervous. He probably would have been pacing had it been safe to let go of the rail. In one hand he clutched a small packet.

Nemec seemed to follow his gaze. “You ready for this, Jim?”

“What?” Parrack started. “I mean, of course I am ready. Are you?”

Nemec chuckled. “My part is easy. I am just a Tradesman, same as every day.” 

The ship jostled, shook and creaked. Jensen put a second hand on the rail. A chime went off overhead and all movement came to a jittering stop. He moved his feet apart to stay stable. There was silence for a moment, and then a matching chime chirped on the other side of the door.

“That’s our signal,” Nemec grinned. “You set, Jim?”

Parrack took a deep breath, paused, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

The doors slid open just like the one leading to Jensen’s quarters did, but they sounded nothing alike. This one grunted and groaned, and the air gushed in when it opened. Jensen took a step back. The Tradesman didn’t though, and neither did Parrack. As nervous as the major had behaved moments before, he held his head high now and followed just one step behind Nemec. Jensen stood at the portal with Misha and his guardsmen and listened to the interaction.

“Welcome to Freyrusia!” A man dressed similarly to Jensen bellowed from a few feet away. “I am Captain Bellain, Dock 21 chief. Do you have your docking papers?”

“Got ‘em right here,” Nemec smiled, looking around the bay. “Been lookin’ forward to this. Damn, I missed y’all!”

“Ahem,” Major Parrack interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” Nemec feigned surprise. “I was so excited to be back, I almost forgot my friend here. Captain-Dock Chief Bellain, this is Major Parrack, he has a message for you.”

“Captain Bellain,” Parrack said, bowing formally and holding out his sealed packet. “I am a Royal courier with a letter to convey to your prime minister. I assure you that it is of the utmost urgency.”

Bellain frowned. “I do not know…”

“Why not?” Nemec tilted his head. “If it is important, you will be rewarded for your diligence. And if it is not, Ferris will simply laugh this nitwit all the way back to Fayar.” He winked at the captain and grinned as the other man did.

“Follow me,” the captain nodded to Parrack and headed for a distant door.

“One more thing, Captain,” Nemec called out. “Can I unload a few of my containers? I will not take them beyond the bay without approval, but it would be good to get a start. My men have lazed around the ship for weeks.”

Captain Bellain laughed again. “By all means, put them to work.”

Nemec signaled the ship, and two large containers made their way out. Fighter and Elder carried one, while Joker, Misha and Jensen toted the other. They were off the ship now, even if it was only a short distance. They set the containers down next to Nemec.

“Keep both hands on the crate,” Nemec whispered in Jensen’s ear.

“Why?”

“Your legs will deceive you after so long on a space vessel,” the Tradesman replied softly. “Do not give yourself away.”

Jensen kept both hands solidly in place. They were off to the side of the _Gratius_ now, waiting for what would happen next.

____________________

  
Christian did not look around when they entered Megalyn’s room as he had in Benedict’s; he simply closed the distance between them and wound his arms around his mate. It was the closeness that he needed to remind him that even if it had only been one night, it would be enough for a lifetime. It would have to be enough.  


“Christian,” Megalyn begged even as she pressed close against him. “We cannot.”

“We did,” he countered.

“We did,” she agreed, “But we should not have. I blame myself.”

Christian released her and stepped away, even tugging her arms off him in the process. “Yourself?” He scowled. “It was not just you. I was there as well, and I was a most willing participant.”

“But you were lost,” Megalyn replied. “I came to you when you were so vulnerable…”

Christian laughed, and it felt so good. He was not happy, really, but it was a moment of levity in an otherwise difficult time. “I was not lost, Megalyn. I was found. You did not trick me or deceive me. I am a man, not a boy.” He reached out to her again and pulled her close, “And I wanted you. I still want you.”

“But it cannot be,” Megalyn whispered against his lips. “I-I…while sex is not discouraged in the Royal Guard, as one cannot deny his or her carnal desires, but relationships are. They distract from the commitment we have made to the protection of Pershebe. It is the fundamental basis of the Guard.” She was pleading now, even as she kissed him.

“You are not protecting Pershebe now,” Christian mumbled between kisses. His hands lovingly traced the curves of her shoulder and hip. “Stay with me just until we depart Freyrusia and our plans are known. We can decide the future then.”

“Christian,” Megalyn groaned.

“Stay with me,” he repeated, licking into her mouth. “I will not have another, you know that now. So the love that I share with you is all that I will have.”

Megalyn grabbed his face in both hands, staring into his eyes. “You want me? You really want me?”

“I want you,” He affirmed. “I want you now, and when I die, I will wait to be your Guide. I will be your light in the Great Darkness.”

“Gods!” She cried softly, “I never. I never thought I would have this…. I will stay with you, Christian. Until we leave Freyrusia. But when we do, I would ask that you return to Pershebe. I would ask you to do that for me.”

As she spoke, she stepped back until her knees hit the bed, and she lay down, bringing Christian on top of her.

“Why would you ask that of me?” He inquired.

“Because I must remain in the Guard, it is my place. But Pershebe is where our child should be raised.” 

____________________

  
As the minutes passed, Jensen started to appreciate the Tradesman’s advice. His legs tried to sway out from under him, and he was glad to be of sufficient height to rest his elbows on top of the crate. As he looked around the bay, he realized it was not just his legs that were working against him; his eyes were doing the same. The entire bay swayed to and fro. He found that if he tried to focus on one spot too long, it moved in a wicked pattern that made his stomach churn. Twice he had to close his eyes and drop his head.  


“It gets better,” the Tradesman whispered, “We call them _space legs_.”

“Is it _space eyes_ as well?” Jensen asked, but before Nemec could do more than grin, a deep, long horn blast sounded once before reverberating off the hangar walls, and the assembled workers ceased their activities and stared at the portal where Bellain and Parrack had disappeared. “What is happening?”

“I do not know,” Nemec replied. “But I suspect we are about to find out.”

Misha, the guardsmen, and even Jensen groaned at that.

Bellain entered alone, calling another man to his side for a brief discussion before hollering something that must have been a code. It did not mean anything to Jensen, and by the look on the Tradesman’s face, it meant no more to him, but the bay workers dropped what they were working on and filtered out through the opened portal. As soon as they had all departed, Bellain nodded toward Nemec, turned on a heel and followed his men out. 

The bay suddenly seemed twenty times larger. And silent. Jensen did not know what to make of it. He found himself not only afraid of making a sound, but afraid to make any movement at all. He was practically holding his breath to keep from hearing the noise of his own exhalations when he heard footsteps, a lot of them, coming through the portal again. He realized he had not taken his eyes off the doorway.

One, two, three… Jensen lost track as the fourteenth or fifteenth set of dirt-brown boots marched into the hangar in rows of three. When they all came to a stop, a woman, Major Parrack, and another man, much older than the others, who had a slight limp and a gray beard, made up the last row, Jensen used math instead. Thirty-three. Thirty-three people had entered the bay. Thirty-two Freyrusians and Major Parrack. The rows of…marchers—that was all Jensen could think to call them, for they weren’t dressed in any sort of uniform at all, and their attire looked more like what Jensen was wearing than what Parrack had on—split apart, forming two columns with rows of three marchers on each side. There was enough room in the middle for the woman, the major and the gray-bearded man to make their way closer to the _Gratius_ , and when they did, all the other marchers dropped to one knee.

“Samantha Ferris, Prime Minister of Freyrusia, Protector of the People Beyond the Bands and Lieutenant of the Royal Guard, retired, present to answer to the summons of the Heir of Fayar!” The gray-bearded man called out before dropping to his knee and lowering his head. That left just the woman and Major Parrack standing.

Jensen finally took a deep breath. He was feeling a little dizzy and was not sure if it was lack of oxygen or the queer scene he was witnessing. Misha moved nearer and he could feel the agrician’s shoulder press against his arm.

He was closer to the _Gratius_ than he was to the Freyrusians, so he could hear the movement from inside before anyone came out. His eyes turned in that direction.

Commander Pileggi walked out alone. He looked even taller and more confident than usual. He was not smiling, but he did not look affected, either. His uniform was perfect, buttoned up to his neck, not like it was by the end of most Elite Council meetings. His shoulders were back, his head high. His appearance was…disciplined. He stepped off the walkway, turned to the side, clasped his hands behind his back, and called out much in the same tone as the gray-bearded man had done: 

“Jared Padalecki, Prince of Fayar. Protector of the Illearian Colonies and Conqueror of the Steel Bands _by feat_. Commandant of the Legions and Heir of Fayar and all the Realm!”

Both the woman and Major Parrack dropped to their knees—Parrack to one, the woman placed both on the ground—and a moment later Jared walked out.

Jensen gasped, and by the feel of Misha pressing closer against him, it had not gone unnoticed. But he had never seen this side of Jared. He was always tall, but somehow he seemed taller, standing so straight. And his hair was swept back away from his face. It was still loose but it did not distract from his features. And his uniform was different than Jensen had seen before. The silvery buttons were not cloth-covered like the usual ones, instead these buttons shined like metal. And the left side of his chest was decorated with rows of ribbons and medals, all in different styles. If Pileggi looked disciplined, he thought, Jared looked regal. 

“Stand, Lady Prime Minister,” Jared said. Jensen was leaning on his container box only a short distance away, but it was as if a show was playing out before his eyes. He watched it with enthusiasm. Jared offered a dazzling smile as well as his hand to the woman, and helped her regain her feet. “We are your guests here. Your unexpected and uninvited guests, I might add. And I thank you in advance for your hospitality.”

Jensen chanced taking one hand off the container box to sneak it into his pocket so that he could touch his medallion, it reassured him right now. He tried not to smile, but Jared really was charming.

Misha pushed against him again, and grinned when Jensen turned toward him. Jensen tried to hide the smile he knew must be lingering on his lips, but satisfied himself with ducking his head when the smirk simply would not go away.

“It is not your smile, or even your eyes that reveal your thoughts to me, Jensen,” Misha whispered, offering another reassuring nudge to his friend’s shoulder. “It is your heart.”

“Ahhhh, love!” the Tradesman crooned softly from Jensen’s other side, his voice as low as Misha’s. “And new, blossoming love at that! Tell me what it is like, my prince. I’ve never had enough time in one place to do more than find a night’s catch and hope to bed them before the morn takes me away.”

Jensen ignored them. He tried to refocus his attention on the scene before him and away from his friends at his sides, but they continued to babble in the background. 

“I am no lady, My Lord,” the prime minister said as she rose. “But I am pleased to see you well. We had received devastating news of your journey. And I am relieved to see no truth in those tales. Tell me what brings you to Freyrusia?”

“I have heard those accounts as well, prime minister,” Jared acknowledged, “And it is definitely to my advantage that those tales were embellished.”

“Embellished?” The prime minister asked.

“Did I use the wrong word, Madame Prime Minister?” Jared frowned for the first time. “Forgive my lack of political etiquette. This is the first time the news of my demise has preceded it, I fear I am at a loss for the appropriate words to use in such a situation. Perhaps you have a better choice.”

“M-my Lord…I—,” Prime Minister Ferris fumbled for words.

Commander Pileggi cleared his throat at exactly the same time Graybeard did.

“Stop it!” Jensen hissed at both Misha and the Tradesman. Their continued banter, no matter how soft, was distracting him from hearing the show playing out before him, and he did not want to miss a word. But this was not his day apparently, the conversation came to a standstill, and the entire group turned their attention toward him. Even his friends, the turncoats, suddenly became silent.

Jared recovered quickly. “Perhaps we could speak more privately, prime minister,” he suggested. 

Ferris glanced from him to the place where Jensen stood with Misha, the Tradesman and his guards before responding. “Of course, My Lord.” She nodded to Graybeard. “Marshall Reynolds and your commander can discuss your lodging requirements later. Or would you prefer to rest before we talk?” 

Marshall Reynolds—Jensen thought he should get used to the name now that he knew it, but no, even as it rolled around in his mind, he knew he liked Graybeard better—signaled the rest of the contingent, and they all stood and turned around in sync. He thought Christian might enjoy seeing this; it was something the fighter was much more accustomed to than Jensen was.

Major Parrack, Graybeard and the prime minister did not resume their places in the formation. Instead, the woman took a few steps toward the containers, and Jensen could sense his guardsmen tense even if their posture did not change noticeably.

“I have had rest aplenty, Prime Minister. It is time for work,” Jared said. “Although I would like to see my accommodations before our talks.” 

Ferris nodded her agreement before raising a hand and pointing at Nemec from a few feet away. A soft smile crossed her face. “I remember this man,” she said, glancing back toward the prince. “How is it that he has come into your service, My Lord?”

The Tradesman tensed. Sensing the change did not take any extraordinary ability on Jensen’s part. The movement was obvious. 

Jensen observed the prime minister closely as she approached. If she noticed him at all, if his words had caught her attention, or if the opulent scarf encircling his neck drew her eyes, she did not let on. Her focus was solely on Nemec. 

“Call it _happenstance_ , Prime Minister,” Jared replied.

“I would name it your good fortune. He is a worthy man. A bit reckless, I will admit, but sometimes we over plan, and a bit of abandon can be the solution,” she said.

Jared tilted his head questioningly, and looked over to the Tradesman for a moment, but before he could reply, Ferris took a step toward the door, pausing for the prince to join her. 

Jared nodded toward the guards, then toward Pileggi, and before he knew what was happening, Jensen, was walking across the hangar toward the door. The Freyrusians were before him, along with Jared, Parrack and Pileggi. Misha and Nemec were at his sides, and the guardsmen followed a short distance behind. 

Jensen was clad more like the Freyrusians than the Fayarians in front of him. He glanced over his shoulder to catch sight of the _Gratius_ one last time before they walked out, noticing how huge it looked against the closed hangar door, and wondering if he would be aboard when Jared guided her back out into space.

____________________

  
“Can I offer you a drink, My Lord?” Prime Minister Ferris asked once the door slid closed and they were alone. Pileggi had protested, as had Reynolds, but this was an initial meeting, one that required only the two of them.  


“Please,” Jared replied. He sat down on a chair near the window overlooking the city. He allowed himself a moment to look out, to relax, now that Jensen was safely settled in his rooms. It was indeed a long day.

Ferris returned with two luminescent green glasses, trimmed in Suraanian gold. It had been years since Jared had seen such splendid work—Suraan was a disaster now without any weapons of their own and no protector to speak of. He knew Freyrusia did what they could, but they were not a warring world. It hurt him just to remember that such peaceful, artistic people were beyond his protection, but maybe that was no longer true. With his new communication abilities…

“To match your mate’s eyes,” Ferris said, lifting her glass and waiting for Jared to join in her salute.

“You knew,” he smirked as he clinked the top of her glass. “What gave him away?”

“You did,” she grinned. “Your eyes bled love when he spoke. It was wonderful to see. It is something every Royal Guardsman dreams about. Why would you hide him?”

Jared took a sip. “I think you know, Prime Minister—“

“Sam,” Ferris interrupted. “When it is just us, or my Elite Council, please call me Sam, Ferris if you cannot abide my given name.”

“Sam,” Jared continued, “We are in dire times. My life is under constant threat, which was something I expected. However, I did not realize how much the rules of engagement would change before I returned to Fayar. As you know, I have been pronounced dead and the Gods alone know what my father’s next move will be. Please forgive my candor, Sam, but I lack the time or patience for politics now.”

“It is worse than you realize, My Lord. I suspected treachery when I heard the order, but now I am certain of it. Your father recalled the Royal Guard.”

“No!” Jared jumped to his feet. “He has no right! He cannot!”

“Sit down, Jared. May I call you Jared while we are alone?” Samantha looked up, trying to make eye contact as he paced back and forth.

Jared could do no more than nod…and sit.

“The Royal Guard is an elite force. Your father has underestimated their loyalty and their intelligence. Marshal Roché has already dispatched a vessel to rendezvous here. I suspect they will dock within days of your arrival. Two vessels remain behind to protect Pershebe.”

“Good,” Jared said, running a hand through his hair before sitting up straight. “That is very good. Now we must discuss our business.”

The prime minister was silent for a moment, and when she met Jared’s eyes again, her gaze was solemn. “We are not a warring world, you know that, My Lord. We do our best to monitor and protect beyond the Bands, but we do not have the strength or the weaponry to fight worldly battles. What do you need from us, My Lord? Tell me, and I will do my best to give it to you.” She dropped to her knees before Jared and continued, “All that I ask is that you do not bring your war to us. I beg this of you.”

Jared grasped her hands, pulling her up. “Of course! I would not bring war here, prime minister. I will do everything in my ability to conceal your involvement. Not only are so many valued servants of Fayar retired here, but...I plan to hide my heir here, amongst your people, until this is settled. I am entrusting—” He had to stop for a moment and turn away. Even though he had rehearsed the words, this moment was more difficult than he had anticipated. “I plan to entrust our child to your care. It is possible that all that I cherish will remain behind when I depart for battle. The debt I owe you is far greater than what you ask of me.”


	10. Chapter 10

The fighter continued to hone his skills against any and all who would challenge him, but now he had ancillary entries in his daily itinerary: He ate. He slept. And sometimes, he even smiled. But mostly he savored the moments he spent with her. Time had passed, enough to notice a tiny swell below her navel when she was nude and sharing his bed. When she was clothed, he could not see it at all. He preferred her naked.

Sometimes he remembered that these dreamlike days were not intended to last forever. That usually happened when she spoke of her commitment to the Guard and his promise to return to Pershebe. So instead, he tried to focus on the moments they still had to share, and their son. She said they would have a son, and he believed her. Children are hope, so he continued to hope for a future, for their future. One they might still have a chance to share with their son.

“What are you thinking about,” Megalyn grinned, slipping the fork between her lips and pulling the meat off with her teeth. When Christian simply stared, she laughed and continued, “Never mind, finish your meal Fighter, the commander is expecting us.”

“Why is that?” He asked, still watching the fork vanish between her lips with each bite.

“No idea,” She replied. “I told him of the agreement we have come to. He seemed to understand our…arrangement.”

Christian straightened a bit. “Our arrangement?”

“You will not take the Oath of the Royal Guard, instead returning to Pershebe with our son. And I will see you both safely to your home,” she reminded him again. 

Christian’s head dropped. He reached across the table for her hand. “But why must it be that way?”

“We cannot raise our child aboard any of the Royal Guard vessels, and I would not like to see him raised by another. I would have our son know at least one parent. As ‘the child of the villages,’ surely that must be important to you, as well. Is it not?” Megalyn asked.

“Then accompany us,” Christian begged. “We can make our home on Pershebe.”

It was the woman who faltered this time. “Fighter,” she whispered, “You knew this one thing about me, I am the warrior you took to bed. I cannot live my life there. I need to fulfill the commitment I made. If you truly cherish me—”

“I do!” Chris interjected.

She held up a hand before he could continue. “If you truly cherish me, and I honestly believe that you do, Christian. I have never felt such love before, it is almost more than I can bear, but in the most wondrous of ways. So if you genuinely do, and you desire to be my Guide, just as I promise to be yours should my journey here end before yours, you must understand and accept all of who I am.”

He waited a moment before speaking, long enough to be sure she was done. “And who are you?”

“I am yours, Fighter—in this journey, and into the ones still to come. Like you, I will not have another.” She turned the hand that still rested beneath his to interlace their fingers and met his gaze solemnly. “I will be your light in the Great Darkness if that is what awaits us, or I will anticipate your guidance if you precede me. But here, in this journey, I am a Royal Guardsman sworn by oath until my service is no longer required. If you love me, you must love all of who I am.”

Christian lifted her fingers in his, brushing them tenderly with his lips. “I love you,” he whispered against them. “All of you.”

____________________

“You played terribly back there,” Nemec said. He was bouncing and catching one of those annoying Tential Balls as they walked. It struck one wall before hitting the deck, and then crossed to the other wall before the Tradesman caught it again and then started the entire process anew. The repetitive thunk, clunk, thunk, was driving Jensen crazy.

“Huh?” Jensen asked when Nemec stopped moving and stared at him. Had he missed a question somewhere?

“What is wrong with you?” Nemec asked, scowling as he scanned Jensen from head to toe. “I have taken more pentanos from you today than I earned in a week aboard the Royal Vessel. You have never performed so poorly in our games.”

There were a few minutes of silence. It appeared as if the Tradesman was unlike most anyone else—he actually expected an answer to his question, whether Jensen wanted to provide it or not.

“I-I do not know,” Jensen admitted. He looked down at his clothes, tugging at a sleeve to lower it. For months now, buttons had kept his sleeves in place, it was hard to get used to this new, looser fit. “It seemed as if I had just begun to fit in, and now I am an outsider again. Funny, these clothes are not so different from what I wore in my old life, but I suppose I had become accustomed to my place.”

Nemec began walking again, and that damn ball started bouncing. “You need not try so hard to fit in,” he said. “You are you. No one should expect more.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Jensen replied. 

“It is only as difficult as you choose to make it,” Nemec continued without missing a step or a catch. “Those who do not like me are of no consequence to me. Why should such people matter more to you?”

“Are you Fayarian?” Jensen blurted out. He was not certain when the thought even formed in his mind, yet alone spewed from his mouth—it seemed to be all one smooth exodus without any forethought on his part. He hoped the scowl on Nemec’s face was not a sign that his question was inappropriate. Thus far, Jensen had felt comfortable speaking freely, for the most part, in the Tradesman’s presence.

“What?” Nemec stopped abruptly, but not so quickly that he failed to catch his ball on the next pass. “You cannot look at me and tell that my father was a respected Leader? That my mother was a Curer whose skills were renowned in Fayar and all the Realm?”

“Are they?” Jensen asked in awe.

“See,” the Tradesman smirked, “You are already trying to judge me by another’s actions. Do not. Whether they are of notable birth and deed, or they are not, they are not me.” Without another word, Nemec continued forward, but the ball did not bounce.

Jensen paused before he hurried to catch up with Nemec. He glanced back at the Guardsmen that followed at a distance. It must be hard for them to remain discrete when he started and stopped so suddenly. “I was not judging, you know,” he offered in a soft voice. “I was asking because I know so little about you. About anyone, actually.”

Nemec stopped again, this time the Guardsmen caught up and passed them just to maintain their illusion. They walked the short distance to round the next bend in the corridor, and Jensen was certain they would be stopped there when he walked passed once more, waiting to renew their surveillance. 

Nemec’s eyes followed their path until they were out of sight. “An excellent plan, _my prince_.” His eyes gleamed, and a wicked smile crossed his face. “We should get out of this desolate spaceport so that you can familiarize yourself with the city proper. Fersk Mettal is the largest city beyond the Bands, and you have not had the opportunity to explore it at all. Come, let me show you what it has to offer, and I will tell you all about my ‘famous family’. But only if you tell me about yours first.”

Jensen looked cautiously toward where the guards had vanished and then back again to Nemec. If he asked them before he left, they would call Jared, and certainly this opportunity to explore would be lost. But they were too loyal to leave behind. With his mind made up, he slipped a hand into his pocket to touch his lucky charm—that is the best phrase he could use to describe what the medallion had come to mean to him—before calling out to the Guardsmen to let them know he was changing directions. 

“My family is not so famous,” he told Nemec as they headed out.

Nemec patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “They might not have been before.”

____________________

“Is it possible?” Jared asked, pacing before the open vidscreen. This was their usual hour for strategic and tactical planning. He was in the conference room with Commander Pileggi, and all the other commanders as well as the general were comm’d in.

“I think it is a possibility. One worth exploring,” Commander Poindexter hedged.

“Possibility? Exploring? What the hell does that mean?!” The general exploded. He had grown weary of distance conferencing and evasions over the weeks. He was a man that preferred making his points first on the battlefield, and next in the war room, where major issues had to be addressed immediately and resolutely or lives were lost. But this vying for a voice, or even for the chance to hear an actual opinion, over a Comm channel was beyond his last attempt at courtesy. They were warriors, not Leaders, and he’d had his fill of pussyfooting around the issues.

“Hold on!” Pileggi barked. “I see both points.”

Jared turned to the older man, amazed that Pileggi was displaying such restraint. The prince knew the ornery commander better than to assume that Pileggi truly believed in this diplomatic venture.

“Gerandella may align with us, given the proper incentive that is,” Pileggi clarified before nodding to Poindexter’s image on the screen. “But we do not know what enticement the Tsettellite has already provided. We need to wait for word from Premier Brown before we can proceed more assuredly.”

Jared always liked the way Pileggi referred to Jeff. It reminded him that the commander had been loyal to Fayar long before Jared was the ruler apparent. Pileggi was a servant of the Realm, as he should be.

“Alright, then we are in agreement on this strategy,” the prince clarified. “If Brown does not provide information to detract from the plan, I will attempt to garner Worthy’s support by offering some share of the containment of this chaos beyond the Bands. With our new communication abilities, and Gerandella’s love of prestige, that should be an excellent incentive.”

“You?” Pileggi asked.

“Of course him,” the general replied with perfect timing. Jared could always count on the older man. “He is the Heir of Fayar, soon to be the King, and while I have seen him wield a Disc like no other, I have seen him fight much more fiercely with his words. Who before him has made such progress on the journey from Pershebe? The prince is the one who must align our allies as we proceed.”

All the commanders voiced their agreement.

“This session is at an end,” Commander Rhodes called out formally when no new business was announced.

“Agreed,” The prince responded according to tradition. 

Pileggi reached over and switched off the vid-con.

Before either could begin their routine summary of the session, Jared’s personal Comm chimed. “Yes,” he said.

“My Lord,” Misha began hurriedly. He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. It sounded like he was running. “It is Jensen…I don’t know. Something feels...wrong!”

“Where are you? Are you not with him?” Jared asked, hurrying for the door, Commander Pileggi at his side.

“I am nearing the northern spaceport exit. It is where he scanned out earlier. He was playing a game with the Tradesman. His Guardsmen were there and I spent the day seeing some groweries within the Old City at Jensen’s encouragement.” Misha was still breathing hard as he spoke, but it did not sound like he was running any more. “I have just returned.”

Jared glanced at the metal encircling his wrist, as if he might have missed the burning heat of it. But no. “He is not injured. Not yet. Meet me at the northern doors. We will find him.”

Pileggi was at his side, using his own Comm to locate Parrack and order him to the same location. He turned to the prince when he finished, not missing a step, “Made such progress on your Journey, huh?”

____________________

Jensen was laughing so loudly, his drink sloshing out of the chalice—he was pretty sure that was the word the Serviceman had used for the fancy vas—that Nemec took him by surprise when he spoke softly in his ear. “Pull your scarf closer, Jensen. It is drooping too far down.”

He made the necessary adjustments without hesitation and took another sip. He was as startled by Nemec’s concern as he was by the use of his name. If the Tradesman was not referring to him as ‘my prince,’ the next most likely words out of his mouth were, ‘the chosen.’ Jensen could not recall a time that Nemec had used his name. Perhaps it was their location that prompted this change.

He sat at a small table inside Sanford’s Vasseríe with Nemec and his three Guardsmen. The Tradesman had suggested a table outside where they could still see the city and the people passing by, and how tempting that had been for Jensen with still so much to discover. But the light remained high and bright in the sky outside, he had felt much of it against his neck and face already, and he feared the red, blistery heat he remembered from his days in his father’s fields if he remained unsheltered. So he used his good sense and took shelter within. Only he and the Tradesman drank, but they were all enjoying the day out in the city, he was certain of it.

Jensen had never seen anything like it. On Pershebe, there were villages, and then there was the Gathering Point where everyone met when the Elders summoned them, but nothing was like Fersk Mettal. It seemed as if he had seen more people today than in his entire lifetime on Pershebe. How could so many exist in one place?

They spent the day traveling down paths—boulevards, the Tradesman had called them—where vendors displayed their wares in the middle of the path, and people walked and rode on either side. The transports startled him at first, they had nothing like this on Pershebe, but he had been traveling aboard a vessel through space for half a tide now, he adapted quickly and stayed out of their way. 

Buildings rose up around them, higher than all the levels of the Royal Vessel. Jensen’s neck hurt trying to see the tops of them. He wanted to enter one, but Nemec insisted that they had no business to conduct inside, so their presence might appear suspicious. Jensen did not question him, the Tradesman appeared at home here. Instead, he spent his _pentanos_ on food he had never tasted before, and some that he had eaten his entire lifetime. When he pulled a _centano_ from his pocket instead, Nemec hurriedly tucked it back in for him, and made Jensen promise not to take it out again, even if he had no more money. 

And he purchased a few gifts. The first was a small fluted vas of delicate green glass. It had a thin lip gilded in gold and a cork stopper that fit snuggly in the opening. Jared would like that. The shop owner had wrapped it carefully in coarse, ochre paper; Jensen patted the bag to make sure it was still at his side. 

He had found round, red fruit for Misha. He tried one first, ensuring that the flavor was palatable before he purchased both fruit and seeds. The agrician would appreciate the latter as much as the former, probably more. And near the end of the day, Jensen discovered an ancient map of Fayar amongst a stack of old, tattered lambskins. It differed significantly from the map General Beaver had shown him on so many occasions, but he thought the older man would appreciate the variances. He had rolled it up and placed it with his other purchases.

But now, they were resting and relaxing before they made their way back to the spaceport. It had been an amazing day, the details of which Jensen was looking forward to sharing with the prince if he had the opportunity.

“Those are RG, Royal Guardsmen,” Nemec nudged his shoulder and nodded toward another table. “Retired. You can tell by their attire. Many of them live here.” He scanned the room and gestured at the people seated all around them. “But as you can see, many others live here as well.”

Jensen followed Nemec’s gaze toward the table, and the outfits the men sitting there wore. They did stand out in the vasseríe. They might not be wearing royal crimson and silver, but each man at the table was clad in a tight fitting tunic with buttons at the wrist and shoulder. It was as if their service could not be forgotten even in retirement, and the loose fitting garb of the Freyrusians was simply too much of a change for them to accept. As Jensen glanced around the rest of the tavern, he saw many different styles of dress.

“I would like another…what is this drink?” Jensen asked as he stood on wavering legs and headed for the bar.

“Nescia,” Nemec replied, following after him. “And your not going up there alone. I will accompany you.”

It took several minutes before the older Serviceman behind the counter came to take their order. People were jostling Jensen from the right side and from behind. Nemec was a solid presence to his left, and his Guardsmen were but a few feet away, so the feeling of so many bodies packed closely together was rather refreshing. It had been a long time since he had been just a part of the crowd.

“Another?” The Serviceman asked when he finally made his way to them. “Hey, I know you!”

Jensen looked up, startled, only to find the older man’s attention focused on Nemec.

“I have been here a time or two,” Nemec smirked, saluting with his glass.

The Serviceman grabbed one of his own, offered his own salute, and took a gulp before planting his elbows on the counter before them. “Name’s Sander. Garwin Sandford.”

Jensen’s attention turned to the man’s wrist, where his hand now supported his head. There was a neat row of buttons there. 

“And you are the Tradesman who lost his ship trying to protect those innocent Suraanese from the Nechi-Mou,” Sander continued.

Jensen turned quickly to catch Nemec’s response. A hint of a frown crossed his face before a smirk replaced it. “Well, heroism was not actually part of the plan,” he said. “Losing my ship ranked even lower.”

“What happened?” Jensen asked. He raised his chalice to his mouth, spilling a bit on his scarf and top as someone jostled him from behind.

“Careful there,” the Tradesman warned the negligent man before answering Jensen. “Nothing really. The planet had been invaded by a handful of Nechi-Mou warships. I thought I could strike a couple of their strongholds and get them to chase me off planet, diminishing the number of invaders. Never dreamed they would actually catch me.”

“Don’ be tellin’ me what ta do!” The man who had elbowed Jensen hollered at Nemec. “Keepin’ ‘im all ta yerself, are ya? Who knows, a handsome young fella like ‘im might like a little variety. Mighta ‘ad enough a ya fer the day.” He chuckled and nearly a dozen men to his right laughed along with him, spreading out fanlike to his side and behind him.

Jensen’s Guardsmen moved in seamlessly, taking their place between Jensen and this strange new menace. Nemec nudged Jensen behind him and joined the Guardsmen in their mortal wall. Jensen looked around as the room fell silent. Even the Serviceman had taken a step back.

“Any damage, and you will pay for it, Regnald,” Sander warned. 

The man, Regnald, leered past the Guardsmen to where Jensen was standing. He licked his lips and nodded. “Might even be worth it.”

One of the man’s companions struck first with a fisted blow to Fighter’s temple. The brawny, but agile guard evaded the strike easily and returned it with one of his own, making solid impact. Nemec was the next to join in, growling loudly and barreling shoulder first into the huge man, Regnald, and driving him several feet back with the collision. 

After that, Jensen could not keep up with the battle. He took a step away from the skirmish only to feel the bar at his back and hands tightening his scarf. He turned quickly to keep the cloth from choking him. One of Regnald’s cohorts had made his way around the clash and had his hands in the fabric encircling Jensen’s throat. The man chuckled as Jensen fought the tightening grip of material. But before it became too much, he loosened his grip enough for Jensen to duck down and slip out of the scarf encircling his neck.

Suddenly, the Serviceman’s hands reached across the bar and lifted Jensen to sit atop it. Jensen was not a short man, but today he felt small and powerless. He was out of his element here, and even his wits had abandoned him. 

“I see who you are,” Sander whispered in his ear before turning to the crowded, raucous room and bellowing loud enough for all to hear. “Royal Guardsmen amongst us, look this way! You are called to oath!”

Men and women around the room rose, many more than Jensen had originally noticed. They looked at Jensen for a long moment, and joined the melee without hesitation. Mere minutes passed before the battle ended. 

Nemec checked that Jensen was indeed uninjured before turning to Sanford and clapping him on the back. 

Both men were grinning, riding the adrenaline rush, when the front doors burst open and Jared bolted in.

____________________

“Commander, you wished to speak with us both?” Megalyn asked as the doors to Benedict’s quarters slid open. She held Christian’s hand tightly.

“Not I,” Benedict corrected. “It was Marshal Roché who requested your presence here. Such as what has happened between the two of you has never occurred before. Never has there been a Pershebian/Fayarian match that was not of royal blood. I suspect this may be his concern. Prepare yourselves for his questions.”

They settled upon the couches without speaking. It seemed too late for discussion. There were no refreshments offered, nothing to suggest this was anything other than official business. They waited only a few minutes before the marshal’s picture appeared upon the vidscreen and his voice came over the Comm. This was only the third time Christian had seen the man, but he recognized him right away.

“Look at you, My Lady,” Roché mocked. “And I thought you to be as wise at strategy as you are talented with weapons. That is why you have risen so quickly in the ranks. It was not your birthright that accomplished that feat. Perhaps I was wrong.”

Christian stiffened at the comment, but refrained from speaking when Megalyn tightened her grip. This was her world, he reminded himself. His warrior princess.

Benedict spoke before Christian had a chance to comment anyway. “I believe they have come to an arrangement that will suit our purposes, Marshal. Once we are resupplied and returned to orbit, the Pershebian will go back to his home planet with the newborn child, and my second-in-command will continue in her mission with the Guard. She can transfer to another vessel if you believe that laxity in my command has led to this transgression.”

“Who says the Elders of Pershebe will accept him?” Roché asked, ignoring Benedict’s last statement. “As I recall, they were pleased to see him go.”

“He has learned much in his time with us, I suspect the Elders can be persuaded to consider him an asset upon his return,” Benedict surmised. “And they will welcome the child. In the past they have taken in children of the Royal Guard, why would they not accept a child from this union?”

Roché was silent for a few minutes before he spoke. He turned to face Christian for the first time. “And you Fighter, what do you say?”

“Marshal?” Christian asked. A little clarification would be best before he responded, but if nothing else, a moment to think might prove useful.

“Is this your idea? Have you come to this agreement freely, or has it been thrust upon you?” Roché asked.

“Given the options set before me,” Christian parried, “it seemed to be the one most to my liking.”

Roché laughed. “I like you. And if all options were available, what would you choose?”

Christian glanced toward Megalyn. He already knew what was important to her and promised to accept the constraints she placed upon their relationship. Even if he did not have tomorrow, he had today, and without her respect he would not have that. “I do not think that bears to consider. Some options are simply not my choice to make.”

“Keep your fighter until you return to your duty in the orbit of Pershebe, and train him well,” Roché advised Megalyn. “I believe there are reasons for all things, even this. But when I see you again, you will give him up.”

“I will,” Megalyn turned to Christian, squeezing his hand again. “But only for this journey.”

____________________

“What were you thinking?” Jared raged. He’d held his fury in until they had returned to their quarters and the door slid closed, but not a moment longer. He moved back and forth across the room in great strides, his hands moving through his hair as if at a loss for what else to do. He turned suddenly and returned to his mate’s side. His voice gentled when he reached to grasp Jensen’s chin. “I could have lost you.”

“That was not my intention, I assure you, My Lord,” Jensen whispered, doing his best to lower his head. The effort was useless against the strength of the prince’s grip. “I bought you a gift.”

“Huh,” Jared huffed, running his thumb against that beloved cheek. “What gift would be enough to assuage my grief in your absence? I am certain nothing so fine has ever even been conceived.”

“It was always my intention to bring it to you myself,” Jensen continued. “As I said, it was only in the last few minutes that there was any threat at all, and that seemed to have been handled well enough in your stead.”

“It is always in the last few moments when a threat arrives, for after that, there are usually no more moments,” The prince replied. “And I would like to think that you needn’t have had cause to concern at all.”

“I learned quite a lot, actually,” Jensen said. He raised his hand to caress the back of the prince’s where it still lay against his cheek. “There are abundant resources here on Freyrusia, My Lord. You only need to look beyond this spaceport to find them.”

“Gods!” Jared swore, pulling his hand away. “It seems that I am My Lord more often than naught these days.” He crossed the room to peer through the portal. The city loomed before his eyes. Fersk Mettal. A city named in honor of the great capital of Fayar: Mettal. And in all the days they had spent here, it was only in his pursuit of Jensen that he had ventured out into it.

“You do not have to be,” Jensen whispered. He came up behind the prince so quickly that Jared was startled by his soft words, even more so by the hands that wrapped around his waist. “I bought you a gift,” Jensen repeated.

“Show me,” Jared commanded in a softened tone. He turned slowly as to not dislodge his mate’s embrace, leaned down, and placed a light kiss on Jensen’s lips. His mate opened to accept his gentle offering before drawing away and reaching into his bag to pull out the brown paper-wrapped parcel.

“What is it?” Jared asked, running his hands over the crude packaging. He had not received a personal gift in many years, not since his grandfather passed into his next journey. Jeff was not so fond of them, at least not for his son, and it was certain that the general could not show such favoritism, not even toward the heir. 

“Open it,” Jensen encouraged. “One would think you had never before received a gift.”

Jared looked up sharply, but saw nothing in his mate’s gaze other than fondness and eager reassurance. He ripped at the paper.

“Careful,” Jensen advised, lifting a hand to slow the prince’s efforts. “It is delicate.”

Slowly, the vas was revealed, nearly swallowed in the prince’s huge hand. Jared held it up to the light, twirled it in his fingers, and watched as the beams flickered through it—dancing as they did so and enlivening the glass. “It is beautiful,” He whispered.

“I hoped you would like it,” Jensen smiled.

Jared set it upon the table beside him and wrapped his arms around his mate. “Gods, Jensen! All these weeks…I have missed you!”

“I have been here,” Jensen replied, moving into the embrace without hesitation. “You have simply excluded me.”

“What do you need?” Jared asked. “Tell me now. I cannot lose you.”

“I—”

Jared’s Comm chirped, maddeningly demanding attention. That strident _ping ping ping_ that indicated it was an urgent transmission. Both he and his mate knew the sound well, and he felt Jensen draw away with a sigh. 

“Come, let us go to the conference room,” Jared said, taking Jensen’s hand in his and scanning the panel. Jensen seemed to relax at his side, and Jared chanced a glance in his direction. He was not sure what had caused the break in his mate’s icy veneer, but he was glad for it. Right now though, there was only one likely reason for the urgent Comm, and they would both be needed for it.

* * *

“What is it?” Jared demanded as the door slid open.

Jensen felt the prince’s posture change the moment they arrived at the conference center. It was as if he was donning his regal persona. He did not release Jensen’s hand, but still resumed his leadership role. Something within Jensen fluttered to life. 

Parrack was sitting at the vidscreen control panel, a hand wavering above it just waiting for the order to click it to life. Pileggi had been standing a few feet in front of the screen, his hands resting in the “at ease” position behind his back when they arrived, but at the sound of Jared’s voice, he stood straight and tall, arms like pillars at his sides, and stared directly forward at nothing in particular. “Premier Brown has passed the Bands and established contact, My Lord,” he explained formally, dipping his head so slightly that Jensen almost missed the gesture. 

It took a moment for Jensen to realize what was happening. But that was exactly what this was: A formality, a ritual of sorts. And in this situation, the commander was acting as the prince’s adjutant. It must have been killing him. 

“The general and the commanders are all present and awaiting your response,” Pileggi continued, not breaking his position.

“Thank you, Commander, take your ease,” Jared replied solemnly—it seemed the least he could do to alleviate the older man’s discomfort, in Jensen’s estimation—before nodding to Parrack to toggle the switch. “Bring the commanders onscreen first,” the prince instructed as he tugged his mate closer and leaned back slightly to rest against the tall chair placed directly before the screen.

Jensen’s eyes widened when he realized he would be directly in view of the vidscreen if he did not pull away soon, and he began to struggle, albeit without much effort, against the prince’s hold.

“Stop,” Jared whispered, clutching him more securely. “Your presence is required here as much as mine. And even if it were not, I would still prefer you to remain.”

“Required?” Jensen raised a brow.

“My cousin’s husband: The premier’s son and my dear friend? I hope you have not so quickly forgotten how gravely ill he was when last we made contact with Premier Brown,” Jared said, keeping his voice subdued as each commander announced his or her presence over the Comm.

Commander Pileggi had resumed his more relaxed stance once again.

“I did not,” Jensen confirmed as understanding dawned on him. “You wish to have my input when you make contact. To see if his condition has improved or worsened.”

“That,” Jared agreed, “And I enjoy your company. I have missed it much of late.” He took a moment to place a chaste kiss upon Jensen’s cheek before the premier’s channel was added to the link. Jensen grinned, leaning closer against his mate.

Just then, Commander Pileggi announced the prince exactly as he had when they arrived on Freyrusia, though perhaps in a subtler volume. Jensen found himself trying to make sense out of Jared’s many designations. Some of them were easy to figure out, and others he made note of to ask the prince about later.

Jared was the first to speak after the introductions. He rose, even as he kept Jensen close. “Premier Brown, it is good to see that you have made it safely beyond the Bands. I entrusted you with an important task, and I knew that my confidence was well placed. I pray that your companions are safe as well.”

“My Lord,” Brown bowed deeply, “We are doing our best. I can only tell you that it is the knowledge that you still live that has kept Aldis with us. In his lucid moments, he clings to the hope of seeing you safely seated upon the throne.” 

Brown’s voice was more emotional this time. More reverent, Jensen thought. Perhaps it was that they were so much closer now then they were when they first made contact. That might be the reason he could feel the emotions of the father.

“Well,” Jared chuckled, “Then at least my continued existence has gained us our first victory.”

Jensen gasped, grabbing more firmly onto the prince’s arm. 

Jared nuzzled at his ear, whispering softly so that only Jensen could hear. “I am merely playing politics, my love. I will not give you up so easily.” That allowed Jensen to relax, and the prince turned his attention back to the screen. “Tell us how my dear friend and my cousin’s love is doing. Has his condition improved?”

Jensen turned his attention fully to the vidscreen.

Again, the premier’s head dropped, but this time it was less of a bow, and more of a gesture of defeat. “I cannot say that he improves, My Lord, but the Chief Ritualist insists that Aldis is no worse than when our journey began. His hair does not grow, and most days he will not eat without assistance, but there are times when his sentences make sense. And more often than not, he recognizes me.”

“Good, that is good…” Jared’s words trailed off as he looked beseechingly toward his mate.

“It is not bad,” Jensen agreed. “The metals of the soil cling to the small structures within the body. That is what the books tell me. While he will survive for some time as he is now, it will take treatment with the appropriate binding agents to draw the poisons from his system. It is probably a good sign that he can still speak to you coherently. It means that the damage is most likely not yet permanent.”

“That is good,” Jared surmised. “When can we expect you, Premier?”

“We have only just passed the Bands,” Brown replied. “Contact was my first priority. This schooner-class vessel was selected for speed not comfort, so we should be in orbit within two days.”

“I will make the necessary landing arrangements,” Pileggi interjected.

“Thank you, commander,” Brown replied. “And if the prime minister would be so kind as to find suitable accommodations, it would be best. I have delicate cargo.”

“Indeed,” the prince smiled. “How has our Chief Ritualist faired along your journey?”

“Surprisingly well, ” Premier Brown smirked. “She did not argue when I requested her assistance on this venture, nor has she complained of the conditions upon this small ship. I am not sure Fayar has seen the likes of a Chief Ritualist like her before. But she is no longer young, and I believe the journey has been difficult for her. She has not traveled so far in many annums. One of her servers came to me with concern when the Chief Ritualist had suffered several episodes of nightspeak. But I have spoken to her, and she assures me that she is sleeping well.”

“She is the Chief Ritualist,” Jared said. “We must allow her to decide.”

“She made that quite clear,” Brown grinned, and Jared laughed in response. 

Nothing regarding the Chief Ritualist seemed entertaining to Jensen, and he suddenly realized he had stiffened in Jared’s arms. The prince rubbed a hand up and down his side gently, whispering nonsensically in his ear.

“It is time to establish the War Council,” General Beaver announced, entering the conversation for the first time. Jensen knew the general was a man who used his words sparingly, so whatever this thing was, it was clearly essential.

“I concur, General. War Council it is,” Brown replied.

“War Council,” Jared echoed. “There has not been a war council since the last of the Gerandellar Wars.”

“We have not required one since then,” Poindexter joined in. 

“But now we do,” Rhodes agreed.

Jensen understood exactly what was happening. He had read about it in the library on the Royal Vessel, and even in the few ancient texts he’d had access to back on Pershebe. With each added voice came additional support: The general, the premier, and each commander swore an unofficial, yet binding oath this day before each other. Each loyal officer was placing his or her support firmly behind the prince, committing themselves wholly to the prince’s cause. All Jensen could do to offer his own was hold his mate more firmly at his side and duck his head into the curve of Jared’s neck.

“I…the War Council is a well-established contingent, and while I am certain that every commander that has been a part of this journey would serve well, I must stay within the constraints previously delineated,” Jared began. “I name General Beaver…”

“It will be my honor, My Lord,” the general acknowledged.

“Premier Brown…”

“I will serve until I have nothing left to offer, My Lord,” Brown dipped in a bow.

“Commander Pileggi…”

“A privilege, My Lord,” the commander of the Fineer, and the prince’s senior advisor and adjutant on Freyrusia replied.

“Commander Rhodes…”

“I will do my best to serve, My Lord,” the commander of the Gratius accepted graciously.

“I will ask Prime Minister Ferris to serve when we meet this eve. I believe that Freyrusia will be an invaluable ally in this endeavor,” the prince continued, and all heads nodded in agreement. 

“As there is a Royal Guard vessel currently heading for Freyrusia at a pace that has never been achieved before, I will reserve the potential Guard position on the council until I have spoken with the vessel commander,” Jared continued. “I realize that not all War Council’s have had a representative of the Royal Guard, in fact, very few over the generations have, but the provision has always been a part of the dictate. My father has attempted to disband the Guard without authority. That alone suggests that the threat is not only ours, but Pershebe’s as well. If so, the Guard must be represented.” And again, heads nodded and several, ‘I concurs’ came across the Comm.

Jensen felt himself warm. His skin was surely coloring. Never before had he heard such fierce determination regarding the protection of his homeland. Not by anyone other than Christian, and that had been some time ago, even before his fighter friend’s training days. Oh, Jared had spoken of it, had told tales of how important Pershebe was, and how revered her inhabitants were. But on most days, Jensen was more likely to be bumped out of the way on his way to an agritory than to be greeted with a warm smile. If the higher officers of the military felt this way, why did their lessers not feel the same? Certainly there was a way to improve the situation…if he lived long enough to see to it.

“And last, I name my mate, Jensen.”

Jensen jerked his attention from the screen to the prince. “Wait. What?”

“I name you the final member of the War Council. You have given me invaluable advice thus far, and I believe that you will continue to do so in the future. Do you accept?” Jared asked.

Jensen narrowed his eyes. He did not see a mocking gaze peering back at him, or even the hint of a jest, but weeks had past since he believed he knew what to expect from the prince. He reached into his pocket to caress his lucky charm. It was warm and reassuring, so he decided to take a chance on it. “Yes,” he replied softly, and the prince’s wide grin made him return it with one of his own.

There were a few minutes of silence before Pileggi confirmed the members of the official War Council and Jensen spent them staring at the prince instead of the screen.

“If there can be at least one joyous moment in all of this turmoil, My Lords,” Premier Brown began, “I hope it is that my choice of Delegate will please you. She has all the finest qualities that Delthestica is known for. She is honest and hard working. She can fight and will protect her charge with her life if it comes to that. She is a true and loyal patriot and daughter of the Realm. Her family has served Delthestica well, two of her cousins have risen to the ranks of the Guard, and Miss Benson is eager to serve as your Delegate.”

If anything, the words made Jared draw Jensen closer to him. “I am certain that we will be pleased,” the prince replied. He rubbed gentle circles on Jensen’s back, and Jensen patted his arm reassuringly. He was not even certain why he did so.

Brown smiled. “No one knows how close you two have become, and how much you have learned to rely upon one another. It is truly a joy to see.”

“I agree,” Jared said, reaching up with a finger to caress along his mate’s cheek. Jensen was entranced. It had been too long since he had felt this close to the prince, and he missed it. He leaned into the touch.

“Thank the Gods for that!” Brown exclaimed. “If your enemies knew, the trade routes might be forsaken, and your mate’s safe haven might be their focus instead.”

The words were chilling enough alone, but the sudden stiffness of Jared’s posture was like ice against Jensen’s torso, and he pulled away from the prince as if he’d been burned by it.

“Safe haven?” Jensen mouthed. He tried to say the words aloud, but there was no air behind his voice.

“Jensen, no…” Jared whispered, reaching out to grab his mate. Jensen stayed just out of his range.

Brown coughed, and the noise drew Jensen’s attention for a moment. The older man’s gaze was focused solely on the Heir. He frowned, and when he spoke, his voice dropped lower, if that was even possible. “Have you not discussed this? I am arriving shortly with your Delegate, and you have made no plans? No contingencies?”

“I knew it!” Jensen swore, knowing only the four of them present in the room would hear his words. Parrack had turned the comm to ‘mute’ at Jared’s signal a moment earlier. He backed slowly toward the door, keeping his eyes on the room’s occupants.

Even amongst the chaos prevalent in Jensen’s mind right now, he could see how Jared’s diplomatic skills were taking over. The prince could not touch Jensen, so he would reach out to the premier instead. Jared signaled to reopen the Comm channel and said, “Be assured, all will be in order upon your arrival, premier. I must depart now.”

“Yes you must—” Brown began. 

That was the last that Jensen heard as he slipped out of the room. He was down the entire length of one corridor and half of another before he realized someone was following closely behind. He stopped abruptly. He was done running, no matter what awaited him.

“Hey,” the major held up his hands as he came to a sudden stop just a few feet behind Jensen. “It is okay. I was just worried about you.”

“Me?” Jensen asked.

“Yeah, man,” Parrack continued. He smiled softly and ran a hand through his hair. “For a minute there I thought you were going to take a swing at me.”

“I was,” Jensen admitted. “But I am not certain my fist would have won.”

“Against my face?” Parrack laughed. “I am not that stony, am I?”

Even in this mood, Jensen grinned.

“You are okay, you know,” Parrack continued after a quiet moment. “You are not abandoned.”

“Then why are you here?” Jensen responded. It was the simplest of all the questions that came to mind.

“Because I was the one who could leave the room,” Parrack replied.

Jensen shrugged. A simple answer to a simple query. He could not ask for more. “Did he order you to follow me?” He asked. It sounded petulant, even to him.

Again, Parrack laughed softly. “No. He might not be happy that I did. I just did not want to see you leave so overwrought. You did not deserve it, nor did our prince.”

“He did not?” Jensen asked. Again, the childishness of his responses was not lost on him. Perhaps he was overemotional right now. Where was Misha?

* * *

Jared fled the conference room as soon as propriety would allow. He had watched Jensen leave, and nodded his assent when Parrack looked toward him for permission to follow the Pershebian out. Now it was his turn.

As soon as the door opened, Misha was standing before him, large blue eyes staring up accusingly. “What did you do?” The agrician hissed.

“I-I do not know.” Jared said. As he hurried along the corridor, unsure of his destination, he described the ending of the conference. “What happened? Can you feel him? Can you tell?”

Misha stopped abruptly, put a hand against the wall of the corridor, and let his head fall back. His eyes fluttered rapidly for a moment, and Jared was afraid he might need to summon a Curer. 

“He is lost, My Lord,” Misha said, letting his head drop forward. “In his head, the love of his life—his only love—has just rejected him.”

“No!" The prince swore. Even if momentarily buoyed by the words, the love of his life, the thought of rejection bore deeply into the prince’s heart. He understood that concept well, and he would not allow his mate to suffer from it.

“Then tell him that,” Misha replied. “He does not deserve this, not at your hands.”

The agrician’s words were already fading into the distance. Jared was running to the place where he would find his mate.

____________________

“You came?” Jensen asked. He was sitting in a corner of the library, knees drawn up against his chest, books surrounding him, and the portals wide open.

Just the fact that Jensen needed to ask hurt more than the prince would like to believe. His own fears had kept him from this discussion for far too long, and it was his mate who suffered from it. Again, Jared had failed him. Would he ever be worthy of his precious mate?

“Jensen,” He whispered, nearing the younger man slowly. He lowered himself to his knees several feet away and crept closer with a hand extended. “I am so sorry that happened today.”

“What happened, Jared?” Jensen asked, looking up at his mate with watery eyes. His voice was gritty and determined despite the potential for tears. “It did not seem to be a vagary or quirk of some kind. It was as if everyone assembled knew what to expect. Everyone except me.”

“They did,” Jared admitted, dropping his hand and maintaining those few feet between them. His touch would not be reassuring right now. “It is only my fault that you did not. My fault and my insecurity.”

“You do not trust me,” Jensen said.

“I do!” Jared barked, but the second he saw his mate flinch in response, he lowered his voice. “I do trust you. I am…I just…agghh!!”

“What?” Jensen sat forward, obviously concerned with the prince’s distress.

“Never, Jensen. Never,” Jared drew in a deep breath, summoning his diplomatic skills as best as he could. They always failed him in the presence of his mate, but he had to try. “Never has so much been asked of the Chosen. Never in the history of all the journeys to Pershebe, even when King Julian claimed Lindsey and joined our worlds forever, has any mate been tasked so heavily as you have been. And as your burden grows, I have tried to alleviate it.”

“How has that worked out, Jared?” Jensen asked, finally stretching a hand out far enough to touch the prince’s shoulder.

“Abominably,” Jared confessed. “Even as I have tried to shelter you from one thing, another larger obstacle has presented itself, and you have found a way to surmount it.”

“So then why shelter me at all?” Jensen continued his questioning. This was the part Jared despised. He made far too much sense.

“Because you are mine!” Jared growled.

The prince watched as his mate’s hand slowly dipped into his pocket, and when it withdrew, Jensen seemed more confident. The Pershebian grinned, rising all the way up onto his knees. He closed his eyes and leaned forward slowly, not stopping even as it seemed that he would hit the ground face-first if he continued. Jared lurched forward to catch him.

“I will always be yours.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Argh!” Brown cried out, grabbing his left leg and teetering on his right for a moment before turning abruptly to the left in an attempt to decrease the target size he presented while wounded and compromised, and avoid another pulse from Pellegrino’s Disc. This was his second hit; the match would end with a third. They were sparring on _Stun One_ , just as he had taught his children, but damn did it hurt when he took a direct blast. He had yet to land his first. He lowered himself to the ground and scrambled back behind the safety of his barricade in the makeshift practice range to recover and reassess.

The premier kept his Disc raised and scanned the dim room, his eyes peeking around the small barrier. Pellegrino had vanished after his last score, and was nowhere in sight. Brown did not even hear movement, if the other man was making any at all. Perhaps Mark had retreated behind his own practice barrier in order to reanalyze his own strategy. There was not much reason for it; the score already stood two hits to none.

“Argh!” Brown shouted, grabbing his shooting shoulder as his Disc dropped from his trembling and useless hand.

“That is three, old man,” Pellegrino said. He held a hand out to help the premier from the ground. “Have you had enough?”

Brown allowed his second in command to assist him to his feet, grabbing his Disc with his non-shooting hand as he rose. Once it was sheathed properly at his side, he brushed the non-existent dust from his pants, worked his weapon hand open and closed until all his digits were again following his commands, and finally clicked the remote to illuminate the room.

“I take it that means ‘yes,’” Pellegrino said. He moved away from the premier and grabbed two sealed quench-packs from the refresher, tossing one to his superior before dropping onto a chair and opening his own.

“For now,” Brown conceded as he followed his subordinate’s actions.

Several minutes passed, enough for Brown to catch his breath, wipe the sweat from his eyes, and nurse his injuries and damaged pride, before Pellegrino spoke again.

“So, what brought this on? What made you seek such a pummeling?” He asked.

Brown chuckled. “There was a time, not so long ago if I recall, that the pummeling went the other way.”

Mark nodded. He headed for the small refresher again, this time retrieving a restorative pack, and walked the few feet to kneel at his superior’s side. He held the beverage out for the older man to take, then tipped back his head to look up. “Yes, it was not so long in the past, but it was many practice matches ago, My Lord. And you only ask for such a session when there is something that you cannot solve on your own. I know that I am not here simply for the physical challenge.”

“No,” Brown agreed. He rubbed the back of his neck and straightened his spine, tilting one shoulder up, rolling it back, and repeating the movement with the other in order to get maximum stretch as he drank. Although they were nearing Freyrusia, this journey seemed far from complete.

While the voyage from Fayar across the Bands had been a relatively short and uneventful one aboard the sleek schooner-class vessel, the cramped living conditions, the delicacy of his passengers and mission, and the awkward colloquy with the Heir and his chosen left the premier unsettled. But Sterling Brown was a diplomat, a world leader, a man who had given his life to service and thus had limited opportunities to vent the frustrations of common men. There were times, like now, when he simply needed to find an avenue to relieve such tension.

“Sometimes I find that my mind will not settle until I find physical release,” Brown confessed. “And you are the only one who will fight seriously against me.”

Pellegrino rose once the premier had accepted the beverage and walked around so that he stood behind his superior. Brown did not flinch. The two had worked in harmony for too many years for the leader of Delthestica to fear Pellegrino’s movements behind him. 

Warm hands fell upon Brown’s shoulders, and a sigh escaped his lips as the ache in his muscles was slowly released. There were few comfort zones aboard a vessel the size of the _Avarian_. Such ships were built for speed and maneuverability, not luxury, and it was rare that any quarters other than the captain’s berth offered any respite at all. Those rooms were the first to be sectioned off and redesigned. They were now a provisional medical ward housing a single patient—the son of the premier and the husband of the second in line to the throne. 

Brown sighed deeply again, this time in anguish picturing his once virile son wasting away day after day beneath a thin sheet of cloth, turning only with assistance or occasionally, on a good day, upon command. Pellegrino’s motions changed in intent, as if the younger man sensed his despair and took on a consoling, soothing circular pattern rather than the brutal deep tissue massage he had been administering. Sterling lowered his head. He had already lost a daughter, would likely never see her again in this journey, and while he had come to accept that, he was not prepared to lose another child. His only other child. He rolled his shoulders again, and Pellegrino dug deeper.

The executive officer’s quarters would be the next most suitable for one such as the premier, but Brown had refused those accommodations as well. The Chief Ritualist was only a few years older than he, and while Brown might be no more than a diplomat now, he still considered himself a warrior at heart, and would sleep standing with a Disc in his hand if it meant that the woman the prince had asked him to escort across the Realm would arrive upon Freyrusia safe and rested. It was a relief when she had offered to share her quarters with his selected Delegate. There were only three aboard the entire vessel who had to arrive safely on Freyrusia, and Brown did not count himself amongst them.

So Brown settled for the chief engineer’s berth, a cubicle he could cross in either direction in three paces, and he added a bunk for his second-in-command. As small as it was, it still had adjustable heat and an adjoining bath. Pellegrino would not have complained, but the premier was not about to ask his second to house himself with the handful of junior officers they had brought along and the vessel’s rapscallion crew. 

Pellegrino’s hands disappeared from his shoulders. 

The premier was lucky to even have this outlet. This opportunity to vent in battle, no matter how small or how cramped the arena, or how infrequent the opportunities, was a luxury not usually available on a schooner-class vessel. If Pellegrino had not come up with the idea for creating a makeshift range in the abandoned agritory, Brown would not even have this. His second-in-command knew him well.

“That is not an answer,” Pellegrino persisted, moving back to sit in the other chair. “You may desire the release that only combat offers, but something brought this need on. What is it?”

Brown studied his empty pack. He lifted it to his lips again, but got nothing from it, not even a dribble. Where to start? He was bothered by the interaction with the prince and his chosen; there was no doubt about that, but how to put his concerns into words without sounding accusatory or disloyal?  That remained an uncertainty. He was terrified of what would happen to Delthestica, to the entire Realm, if Leader Jeff assumed control, but that was a vague, distant terror, one he and his second had discussed frequently and freely when they were alone. He feared for his son, wondered if Aldis would endure, and if his survival depended on the favor of a man who had bolted from the room, aghast upon hearing the premier’s words, just hours ago. That was it, while he was concerned about it all, most of these issues were ones the two men discussed daily, hourly at times, but this issue of family, how the prince was dealing with his own and how it would affect the Realm, was something they had never touched upon. And of course, how it would affect the premier’s own. He hated himself for putting his personal concerns above all others. But…Aldis was all he had left.

“How do you do it?” Brown asked. “I do not regret my selection, but I am sorry for how it has affected your life, you know.”

“That is all? You’re worried about me?” Pellegrino smirked, waited a moment, then dropped his grin and sighed. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“You have spent your whole life in service to Delthestica and the Realm, and now that you have finally found a partner to share your journey with, I took it away from you with a single request. One she accepted without turning her head to you in consultation. In a few brief words, I have taken her from your life for an annum at least, probably more. I am sorry for that,” he repeated. 

Brown kept his voice low, deliberate. This was the first time they had addressed the issue. He did not regret his choice for Delegate, only the impact it might have on both the woman and her intended. The man who had fought at Brown’s elbow, knelt at his side, and massaged his shoulders. His second-in-command: Mark Pellegrino.

“Why would you be?” Mark’s head jerked to the side, a tendril catching his vision and his attention. He snapped a hand out, capturing the elusive space urchudia before it shot back up along the thin spindle. He crushed it between the palms of his hands, pulverizing the evidence of its existence. Urchudiae were not poisonous, but the tenacious tendrils they wove could clog drainage systems and fuel lines long before a vessel reached its destination if not kept in check. He turned back to the premier. “Amber is perfect, and to deny her the honor because of her relationship with me would be a disservice to us both, and to the Realm.”

“Still, the mandatory separation—”

“We will have our time,” Pellegrino interrupted, a warm smile spreading across his face. Again, he stood and walked to the premier, offering a hand to the older man. “She will do her job as I will do mine. Together, all of us will defeat this threat and then we will have the rest of this journey and many more to share.”

“And your job?” Brown asked as they headed toward the door. “What would that be?”

“To be your second, My Lord, for as long as you require it of me, of course,” Pellegrino averred. “Your confidante, as I have been today, your advisor when you desire it, and your subordinate, carrying out your orders resolutely even unto my death.”

“And if my orders countermand those of the Heir, the soon-to-be king?” Brown asked. “What then?”

“Then it will not be unto _my_ death, My Lord,” Pellegrino said, glancing at the premier seconds before he scanned the view panel, opening the door into the narrow corridor.

Brown smiled, perhaps for the first time since the Chosen had fled from their meeting earlier, but stopped before either of them exited. He patted Pellegrino solidly on the back. “Good man. Now, another match. And this time let the old man’s pride win out.”

____________________

  
Jensen abandoned the warmth of the prince’s embrace to seek the calming reassurance that staring into the depths of space offered. He shoved a few of his books out of the way to get to a portal, but had to laugh at himself when all he could see was the sprawl of Fersk Mettal. It was ironic really, just how quickly he had become accustomed to space travel and the tiny, twinkling lights in the dark. He missed it here, in the depths of the city.  


It was still daylight outside, even if only just. It had not been so long since their meeting with the premier, with the newly formed War Council, but the emotional toll left him drained. Several minutes had passed since he calmingly reassured the prince that he would always be Jared’s. And several more passed now, as he sat studying the fading daylight and the first spattering of bright lights flickering across the vast city. He had offered his trust, again. Now it was the prince’s turn to make a gesture in return.

Silence surrounded them. He could hear the prince’s breaths behind him—not long and drawn out, but not shallow and uneven either. So he waited, staring through the portal until the last hint of daylight succumbed to the glittering lights of the city’s nightlife. 

The prince said nothing. Jensen listened carefully, and other than the effort of his lungs, Jared had not moved at all.

Jensen sighed, deliberately not turning to face the other man. “You mean to leave me behind,” he said without the hint of question in his tone. It was a statement of fact meant to jostle the prince, draw him from his reverie, or vacancy, wherever it was that he had retreated. 

“I have suspected it for some time,” Jensen continued when his first words received no response. “But now to find out that you would leave me under the protection of a woman I know not at all—I will admit this might truly crush what spirit I have left.” 

He turned to face the prince, his vision blurring through tears. It was a struggle not to lower his gaze. “To tease me and make such grand promises only to abandon me here with none but strangers. Do you think so little of me?” He whispered. His voice so small, he was not certain it would travel the handful of feet to where the prince still sat. 

“No!” Jared rose to his feet, finally jolted from his trance. He reached Jensen in two strides, pulling his mate into an embrace. “I would not abandon you to strangers. Why would you think I would leave you under the protection of some strange woman? The prime minister? Is that who you are thinking of?”

Jared pulled just far enough back to sweep the hair from his lover’s forehead and to wipe away the trail of tears from his cheeks. “Having you remain behind is not what I want, Jensen, but it is a prospect available to you. It was only ever meant to be an option should you desire it. As you sneaked off the _Gratius_ disguised as a crewman, very few here know who you are. They do not know the identity of the beautiful, green-eyed youth who walks amongst them. You can live out your life here. Safe from war, safe from…me.”

“That is what you would have me do?” Jensen asked, his face deliberately blank, awaiting the prince’s reply.

“Me?” Jared splayed a hand across his own chest. He shook his head. “No, I am a selfish man and want you at my side for all of my journeys, starting with this one, but I will give you up if it is your desire. I will…” Jared’s voice broke. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against Jensen’s. “I will,” he repeated.

“Why would I choose to stay?” Jensen asked.

“It is safe here,” Jared whispered, moving his lips to his lover’s forehead and placing a soft kiss there. “There is no war threatening your life with every escalation.”

“It is not home,” Jensen said, reaching an arm around the prince. It felt right.

Jared sighed. “No. I regret that I cannot give that back to you.”

“ _You_ have become home,” Jensen said, pulling the prince closer.

Jared took a deep breath, perhaps the first Jensen had heard since the prince entered the library following the disastrous vid-comm with Premier Brown. 

“Then…you are mine?” Jared asked, scrabbling for the right words. “For this journey, I mean. I will not ask any more of you now.”

Jensen let a finger trace the chain lying against his flesh. His other hand dipped into his pocket for reassurance, and perhaps hope. “I am,” he replied.

“I am grateful for your trust. I owed you the same all along,” Jared said. He laced his fingers with his mate’s and pulled him toward the plush sofa in the center of the small library. He lowered himself onto it, and tugged Jensen down next to him. “I thought I was giving it to you. I believed that I was learning how to rely upon another. It seems I still have much to learn. I should have shared all that I know with you. All my thoughts and plans. My battle strategies, my concerns, and my heart’s desires. But I was afraid. I was afraid of losing the trust that I had gained. And now I fear that it is gone forever.”

“You have dismissed my suggestions and concerns easily in the past,” Jensen said. His attention was drawn to where Jared’s fingers tapped nervously on the edge of the sofa cushion. He ignored it, trudged on. “Is my council only valuable when you choose not to dismiss it?”

“No!” Jared looked up sharply. His finger beat stopped. “I value your advice. I always consider it, but I hope you can understand that it is not only your ideas and suggestions that I must evaluate. You may not have all the information, and in the end, the decisions are my responsibility.”

Jensen blinked. “I understand that. It is good to know that I am valuable to you.”

“You are,” Jared insisted.

“Then why would you fear losing my trust forever?” Jensen asked. He caught the haphazard movements of Jared’s fingers at the edge of his vision again. “What is it?” 

“I have wronged you,” Jared admitted. “Our Delegate is nearly here. I should have discussed her position with you. And while it was necessary to call upon her services, I should have asked for your guidance and approval. I know now that it would have been easier for you to understand and come to terms with had I given you more time, but instead, I have waited until this late hour to explain her role to you. Wait—” Jared struck his forehead. “That is who you were talking about, when you thought I would leave you under the protection of an unknown.  When the premier mentioned a woman, it was she you dreaded, was it not? 

He shook his head when Jensen nodded. Jared smiled, relaxed and even, scooting forward. “No. That is not her role. Not at all. Her purpose is to carry and protect the next Heir of Fayar. Not you, I would not leave you alone here, with only strangers surrounding you. I would have asked who you would choose to remain with you. All of your Guardsmen are loyal, and would have gladly remained at your side.  Even Misha—” He stopped talking as Jensen pulled away.

Jensen tried to stand, but his legs wobbled and refused to support him, so he settled for retreating to the far end of the sofa instead. He was light-headed and certain all color had drained from his face. How could Jared do this to him? Take another to his bed. He must surely know that Jensen would be lost in the Great Darkness. Without a dedicated light, there was no hope for him to find his way. And as a discarded mate, he would not even have the guidance offered to an innocent by the Greats who had preceded him. He would be alone. He sunk lower into the cushions, felt himself sliding off.

“Jensen?” Jared moved to hold him up. He rubbed a hand along his mate’s shoulder, trying to calm him. “Jensen, what? What happened? I know I have waited far too long to explain, but this is the last thing that I will ask of you. Fayar must have an heir. We must make a child.” He lowered his head toward his mate as he spoke, planting a soft kiss upon Jensen’s lips before whispering in his ear, “I want our child to have your eyes.” 

“Our child?” Jensen was overwhelmed. The prince was looming above him, holding him up, caressing him, kissing him. He was talking about things that made no sense to Jensen. “I—I do not understand. You would lie with a woman? Ask me to do the same? Abandon me, perhaps not in this lifetime, but in all of my remaining ones? How is that better?”

Jared pulled back but did not allow his grip to loosen. He kept a knee on the sofa between Jensen’s to keep him from slipping further down. “I am making a mess of this,” he said. He lifted Jensen easily, scooting him further back and securing the younger man’s position on the couch before sliding to the floor and gently separating Jensen’s legs to situate himself between them. He nipped at Jensen’s knee, his thigh. 

“I will _never_ lie with another,” Jared averred. “If you choose to remain on Freyrusia, my decision will still be the same. The child will be ours, yours and mine, if you grant me this. The Delegate is exactly that—delegated to a task and sworn by oath and fealty to follow it through.”

“How?” Jensen gasped. He let a hand rest on the back of Jared’s head, encouraging his journey upward.

Jared nuzzled at the fabric covering his mate’s nascent erection, drew in a deep breath, then replied. “It has always been the way between Fayar and Pershebe. My grandfather explained it to me, but I was very young. It was difficult to understand at the time. We are meant to be together, to mate. We need only find a willing carrier. It is an honor in the Realm, but in these dire times, I wanted our child well protected. I wanted our Delegate to be a capable warrior as well. Did you believe that we would be the first Royal Pair on Fayar of the same gender? We are not. Your seed and mine will make a child, it has happened throughout history. It will happen again.”

Jensen stared for a moment. A child. With his eyes, the prince’s unruly hair. He looked up. How tall would a child they made be? He glanced around the library.  Perhaps there was a book… 

“I need to meet her,” Jensen said, interrupting his own thoughts. “I cannot imagine such an idea, but if it is indeed a possibility, I must meet this woman, and approve of her first.”

“Of course,” Jared agreed with a small nod. He lifted Jensen’s fingers to his lips, sucking gently on one fingertip before letting it slide from his mouth. “We will both have the opportunity soon.”

Jensen groaned. “And one more thing, for now. My mind is not fully engaged at the moment, so you will forgive me if I add further stipulations at a later time.” He paused until Jared met his eyes and nodded his agreement. “I remember the tale of your grandparents. How the Ritualists asked your grandfather to separate mother and child…”

“You are not her,” Jared reassured, caressing the spit-dampened finger. “That will not happen.”

Jensen wrapped his other hand around Jared’s neck, drawing the prince closer. “Promise me,” he said. “Promise me that no matter what the Ritualists say or do, you will never allow anyone to keep me from a child of mine.”

“I swear it to you,” Jared vowed. “With you at my side, there is no higher authority in all the Realm than I. It matters not whether you take the next step on the Journey with me, I will never try to separate you from our child. This is a decision we are both making, Jensen, and I will not allow anyone to come between either of us and our child.”

Jared leaned in, capturing his mate’s lips in a soft kiss. Jensen reacted instantly, surging up for more. Perhaps it was the conversation, or the weeks of emotional strain, but whatever it was, Jensen needed this.

The prince groaned, pulling back with difficulty. “Do you need time alone? Time to think? You have much to consider. Tell me now, while I am still able to stop. You may want to reconsider your decision to remain here, upon Freyrusia, in light of this discussion. But know that it is not my desire to leave you behind, only my wish to give you some choice in your life: Shelter in a safe place and time with our child, or war with me.”

“A difficult decision, My Lord. I have heard that you are very persuasive with your words…persuade me,” Jensen said, leaning in and nibbling at the prince’s neck.

“Different words, different situations,” Jared moaned.

“Still, convince me.”

“What do you want, my love?” Jared rubbed a thumb along Jensen’s smooth cheek.

“Now, or later?” Jensen asked.

“Both, if that is what it takes to convince you.”

“Later is simple, if I am to have a child, I must also have victory,” Jensen said. “I will not have a child of mine suffer in the aftermath of our defeat.”

“Done,” Jared replied, pulling his lover in for another torrid kiss.

Jensen’s lips stung pleasantly when he drew away. He let a smirk draw across them. “And now? I suppose I would settle for an evening alone.”

Jared frowned, then nodded in acquiescence. 

“With you.” Jensen grinned.

“It has been too long,” Jared sighed. He stood, and reached down to help his mate to his feet. 

“I have missed you, My L…Jared.”

The prince pulled him into another deep kiss; his lips warm against the tingle of Jensen’s own. It fueled the desire within him. No, he thought, it set it ablaze.

“Come,” Jared held out his hand and Jensen took it. “Let us go to our rooms. We have an evening to spend alone.”

“A child,” Jensen ruminated, tugging gently at Jared’s hand until the prince looked back. Jared’s swollen, reddened lips made Jensen smile and lick his own. “I can have a child?”

“More than one, if we win this war,” Jared said.

“Then we will win.”

***

  
The flutter of an avardil’s wings, so rapid that the motion was only evidenced by the tiny bird’s fluidic progress through the air. The ooze of crystalline lava from the Trabacan volcano on the most desolate ridge of Fayar, so slow that its travel down the steep slopes could be measured with the palm of a single hand each year. The two were interchangeable right now. Both were the time that had passed since he had last seen this: Jensen splayed out across their bed before him, naked and panting. Moaning and begging for his touch. It was forever and only a moment. It was more than Jared deserved. It was less than he had earned.  


_ Patience _ , Jared cautioned himself.

“Jared,” Jensen moaned. The desperation in his lover’s voice grounded Jared in the moment—patience was a simpler endeavor when he had a proper guide. He rubbed a soothing hand down the knobs of his mate’s spine, stopping and circling his fingers in a feather-light touch along the graceful swell of Jensen’s ass, appreciating. Jared kept watching though, observing. Something was different. He nudged at one splayed, sweaty thigh, and Jensen drew his leg up further. His hips moved freely as the sounds of longing and unbridled pleasure continued to spill from his mouth.

That was it, Jared thought. With his head buried deeply in the pillows and his cock hidden beneath him, Jensen was free to be himself. Free to let go. Jared leaned down, curled his hands around eager hips and encouraged Jensen’s thrusts into the mattress in cadence with the motion the younger man already had going. “Yes, love,” Jared whispered into his mate’s ear. “Just like that. Gods, I have missed you!” 

He let his lips follow the trail his fingers had already etched out along shoulders, vertebrae, and finally pale, firm cheeks. Jared kissed one lush globe, felt it tense in response, and then push into the bedding below again as another long, low groan tumbled from Jensen’s mouth.

Slowly, gradually, Jared moved lower, settling his weight between Jensen’s legs and spreading those luscious cheeks with both hands. He nibbled on one as he pushed a thumb against Jensen’s opening, circling it gently, testing it, and grinned when Jensen responded with a _hiss_ and another desperate thrust into the linens below. Instead of tensing and pulling away, the pucker relaxed in response to Jared’s gentle strokes, and within minutes, Jensen was pushing back, seeking more, only for Jared to pull his thumb away, chuckling when Jensen buried his face further into the pillow beneath him.

“Jared,” he whined with a muffled voice.

“Right here,” Jared said. He was staring at the feast before him, his own arousal determined to override his thoughts and distract him from his current course. Jared shook his head. He wiped his hands on the linens, and spread his fingers out to get a better grip on those sweaty, slippery globes, pulling them apart to reveal the treasure that was his—for his eyes, his pleasure, only—and dove in. “I’m right here,” Jared repeated before he licked a path from balls to pucker.

“Aghh!” Jensen cried out. His hips bucked, first down, and then back to meet the prince’s tongue. “M-more,” he panted.

Jared continued to encourage his mate’s movements with both hands. It was easy to guide Jensen’s hips firmly into the bedding, and just as natural to mimic the movement himself. It eased some of the frustration in his groin and kept his need from reining free, overtaking his control and ruining this opportunity that his mate had granted him. It was precious time he needed to prove his devotion to the man who would share this journey with him, and hopefully many more. Jared could not waste the gift he had before him now. He had much to prove.

He circled his tongue around Jensen’s opening, watched his lover’s spine arch magnificently, and listened to his intense wail. Jared’s hands slipped from the slick globes once again, and he lost contact, lost the delectable taste. Jensen was trembling beneath him. Jared dried his hands on the linens to each side before using the plush blanket crumpled somewhere near his knees to wipe away some of the moisture from his lover’s overheated skin. 

The prince grasped each delicious globe again, tested his grip to be certain it was secure. He grinned devilishly at the exposed flesh before him and delved back in. 

“Mine,” he growled. His tongue lapped at the entrance, circling it and laving it until it was wet and relaxed. And then he made a spear with his tongue and stabbed in.

“Ahhh!” Jensen wailed. His hips jerked, altered their rhythm and pushed back, seeking more. “Gods, Jared!” He was struggling to bring his knees close enough together to raise his hips into the stimulation.

Jared lifted his head from his treasure, momentarily dazed. “Back down,” he demanded, guiding his lover with his hands as he spoke, one hand curving around to cradle Jensen’s erection. “You do not need to do anything, my love. Just…let me.” 

“Mmm,” he groaned from between his lover’s nether cheeks when Jensen followed his command and eased himself back down into the bedding, spreading his legs further apart again. 

Jared stabbed in as deeply as he could and grinned when Jensen pushed back to grind against him. He let his tongue curl around the inside of the rim and tug, pulling more moans from his lover’s lips, loosening him more and encouraging his movements. He wanted to hit that spot however, and was certain that he was not quite there. At least not yet.

The prince pulled up on Jensen’s knees, playfully spanking one perfect cheek when the younger man groaned at the loss of contact. “Sshh,” Jared said. He reached for the delicate green vas Jensen had gifted him and poured a healthy dollop of oil across the tips of his fingers. The precious oil seemed an apt purpose for the lovely vas. He settled back into position, hissing when his hard cock made contact with the bedding once again, and pressed one finger gently against the opening, requesting, rather than demanding, entrance.

Jensen pushed back until Jared was buried to the second knuckle. Apparently, the answer was yes.

Jensen moaned, his hips gyrating even as he attempted to get up on his knees and elbows and set a rhythm. Jared did not stop him this time. It suited his cause. The prince reached a hand around his lover and once again formed a tight sheath for Jensen to thrust into. Jensen took advantage of both stimuli, driving forward into Jared’s fist and back, first onto one digit, then, with a groan and a string of Pershebian expletives Jared had never heard from his lover’s lips before, onto two. 

Glistening with sweat, trembling with exertion, and tumbling toward climax, his mate was a glorious site. A welcome one, indeed. Jared was on his knees now, in response to Jensen’s change in position, and his aching erection mourned the loss of friction lying prone had awarded him. But this was far more important. He held his fingers steady, allowing Jensen to seek the fucking he desired, but tightened his grip around his mate’s cock, twisting at the head as the younger man’s movements grew more frantic and his curses louder.

“Come on, love,” Jared encouraged, his forearm quaking with the effort it took to hold it in place against Jensen’s frenzied motions. The prince captured one slippery knee between both of his own so that he had a better hold of his lover and rocked Jensen between his arms. It placed one of his mate’s hips directly against his cock, and for a moment, alternative plans swirled around Jared’s mind. Only for a moment, though. “Come for me, love,” Jared growled, thrusting against the hot, sweat-slicked hip before him. “Come on!”

Jensen drove forward again, stuttered. He groaned and arched his back, pushing up off the bed and throwing his head back onto Jared’s shoulder. The prince spread his knees at once, his thighs flexed, bracing himself; it took all his strength to hold them both upright. He matched his lover’s groan, both lamenting the loss of friction and appreciating the treasure in his arms. He buried his teeth in the curve of Jensen’s neck, just to mark, not deep enough to break skin. His lust nearly overpowered him as the chain about his mate’s neck tickled his upper lip.

“Gods!” Jensen cried out, his body trembling, flying between Jared’s hands like the bow of a violin. “Jared!” He arched up, his back stiff. His ass clenched around the prince’s fingers, drawing them further in and holding them there. His cock gushed glistening globs of come that Jared continued to coax out long after the initial climax was complete with gentle follow-up strokes and squeezes until there was nothing left. 

Jared had to lean back, straining his thighs and abs to support both their weight until Jensen squirmed away from his grip. As soon as Jensen moved to lie back on the bed, Jared followed him down, his own need overwhelming him. He cupped Jensen’s hips in his hands and thrust his aching cock against the crease of his mate’s ass.

“Jared?” Jensen’s voice was a whisper. It broke through Jared’s fervor.

“Just this. Just this, I swear,” he said. “I promise, my love. Just this.”

Jensen stirred beneath him, drew his legs tightly together. 

Gods! Jared had meant it. He would not harm his mate. He stopped abruptly, pulled away.

“No, no, come closer,” Jensen murmured, his head turned awkwardly, enough that he could see the prince above him from the corner of his eye. He reached back, grabbing hold of Jared’s erection and guiding it toward the tight space between his thighs, turning once again to face the bedding.

Jared thrust once, experimentally, into the tight channel his mate had created for him. There was enough sweat and residual oil there to ease the friction and make it warm and…nice. He rested his weight against his lover and felt Jensen press back and clench his thighs in response. Jared nipped at his ear, pushed forward again and moaned when a hiss escaped Jensen’s lips. Soon, he lost himself to the rhythm and the reaction he felt beneath him. Jensen was driving back into each of his thrusts. It was music. 

“I adore you,” Jared whispered as he came.

____________________

  
Christian eyed the commander suspiciously, circled him slowly from a distance. The light was dim, an ordinary occurrence in the practice arena, and while some things within the facility varied, as always, the fighter within him relaxed in the familiarity of darkness. He used all his senses to gather information and hone in on the older, more experienced warrior’s position.  


He drew in a single, silent breath. Waiting. He could wait. It was something new for him, this new kind of patience.  He had spent his time as an unwitting renegade on Pershebe waiting—for the next alarm to clang, for the next group of travellers to recognize him, for his next chance for a meal. But that was a different kind of waiting than the one he had learned here.  Here he learned to wait for telltale sounds, images, and even scents, to direct him toward his prey.  Toward victory.  He had spent these past months training with Megalyn, learning his own strengths, and more poignantly, his weaknesses. He could never unsheathe faster than the guards who had trained with a Disc since childhood, been selected for service in their youth, and competed with the other elite throughout their lives, but he could sense advantage or danger between heartbeats. He was a born fighter, with a keen awareness and rapid-fire reflexes that most Royal Guardsmen trained their entire lives to achieve and never quite attained. Those skills had won him many victories on this range, and learning to wait for the signs his senses gifted him had won him all the rest. That was what Megalyn had said, and she grinned when she told him so. There were times he believed that she lived through his matches now, although he did not understand why. 

Today was different. This was Commander Benedict, the man who had once declared that if Christian drew his weapon, he would die. This meant so much more than any match before.

Chris ducked behind an embankment that reminded him of one of the entrances to the caverns on Pershebe to reassess his position. He had waited weeks for this opportunity, training with Megalyn until the swell of her belly frustrated her and neither of them were comfortable in combat any longer, and he was not about to lose this battle on an impulsive move. His attack would be planned, focused…perfect. He owed it to his teacher.

His attention did not waiver, even behind the protection of the barrier. Christian was not the same fighter he had been months ago. He was a thinker now. She had gifted him that. 

_ Know your enemy _

He remembered his teacher’s words, allowed them to become part of his battle strategy. Benedict was moving closer, Christian did not need to see him to know, his other senses were on alert. They had each struck a single blast already. Christian was not injured; the first jolt hit him on his left flank where he still bore the silvery scar from his initial encounter with the warriors of Fayar. His skin remained insensate there, and the hit merely spurred him into battle mode. His retaliatory strike, however, nailed the commander directly on his shooting hand. Christian now had the physical edge. He was not fooling himself, though; he did not have the tactical advantage. He still had much to learn.

_ Know yourself _

He knew his strengths. The months spent learning what were _not_ his strengths taught him that. He eased to the side of the mound and peered around it. In the dim light, his dark head would be nearly invisible if he kept his movements negligible. 

Benedict was moving closer, his Disc now cradled in his left hand. Christian ducked back behind the mound. How the commander held his weapon did not mean anything, he reminded himself. If he were to know his enemy, truly know him, he would know if Benedict could fight equally well with either hand. He did not.

Christian relied on his senses instead, slowly slinking around the other side of the knoll, maintaining the distance between himself and the commander. His feet crossed beneath him as he made his way around. 

A splay of brilliant, white light shattered the darkness and rainbowed above his head. It was a distraction, an elaboration to draw his attention, and Christian would not play along. Instead, he covered his eyes until he felt the heat of the light fade. He raced up the hill when the darkness returned so that he once again had the advantage of shadows, and struck a direct blast to his opponent’s chest: A vital organ. Two points. 

Victory.

Megalyn dropped her legs from the table in the far corner of the arena and rose. She rubbed a hand across her belly, it was a gesture Christian had become accustomed to, but stopped mentioning when he saw the concern in her expression. 

Benedict was already on his feet, sheathing his weapon and grinning.

Megalyn grinned in return. She turned to Christian, kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “Always the key to victory, know your enemy.”

“I…won,” Christian said. His eyes darted from one elite Royal Guardsman to the other. 

Commander Benedict rubbed his chest. “You did, remember how that feels.” He dipped his head. And left.

____________________

  
Brown had changed in to his nighttime garments and settled down in his quarters for the evening. One more day, one more night, and they would be in orbit around Freyrusia. He raised his feet onto the ottoman before him and lifted the cup to his lips. He was ready for the next step of this journey.  


“Premier,” Pellegrino said as he entered their quarters and then immediately dropped to his knees at Brown’s side. “The Chief Ritualist has requested your presence in the medical ward. There were several Curers in attendance, My Lord. It is my fear that Aldis has taken a turn for the worse.”

The premier did not bother changing his attire or even donning shoes, he simply bolted from his seat and headed out the door. He had thought himself prepared for the next phase of this journey, but perhaps he was still as vain and overconfident in his waning years as he had been in his youth.  This was not a part of the journey he had hoped to take.

 

“What is it?” He demanded the moment the door to the medical ward slid open. “What has happened?”

He moved toward the single bed and shouldered his way past the crowd of Curers and assistants huddled around. They parted for him, and his eyes latched onto his son, still as night and ghostly pale. In all the time since they had departed Fayar, Sterling had never seen Aldis look so fragile. If not for the sheen of sweat on Aldis’ skin and the rise and fall of his chest, Brown would have thought… He would have thought….

“Gods! What happened?” He watched a damp cloth swipe across Aldis' forehead, and followed the accompanying arm up to see the Chief Ritualist standing at the head of the bed, soothing the sweat-damp skin. 

“A fit, My Lord,” one of the Curers said. “It grabbed him in the midst of his meal and stole his control over his muscles. We are lucky he had already swallowed. He seems to be over it now, but will require some time to recuperate.”

“ _Seems_ to be?” Brown’s nostrils flared, he took a deep breath, steadying himself and doing all he could to rein in his temper. “That is the best you can offer?”

The Curer dipped her head. “It is all that I have, My Lord. I am sorry.”

The Chief Ritualist was at his side, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him away. “Sterling,” she said. Her eyes met his, despite the height difference, and she waited until his attention was focused on her. “They cannot do anything more for him here. Get up to that Command Deck and lead like you are meant to. Hit those afterburners or whatever you call them, and get this boat to Freyrusia. There is not a one of us who needs one more minute of sleep before we get there, and a day and a half might just be a half day too long for your baby.” She turned her head slowly toward the bed and nodded at the frail form beneath bright white sheets. 

Brown’s eyes followed and then returned to her.

“Go,” she said, nudging him toward the door. She held up the cloth in her hand. “I will watch over your baby.” 

Brown darted from the room, Pellegrino at his side. The premier heard her words in his head as he ran down the corridor. 

_ Get dressed first, though. _

Even in his current state, he appreciated her humor.

____________________

Jared cradled his mate in his arms. This was a rare occasion, the wonderful kind of rare. Their few intimate interactions had been late at night or early in the morn, times when they were too tired to stay awake or too busy to linger in bed. But now, freshly bathed, he sat against the headboard with Jensen tucked close to his side. He ghosted his lips across the silky strands of his lover’s hair, felt the clumps where moisture still matted it, and grinned.

“It is getting long again,” he whispered. “Do you prefer it this way?”

Jensen’s head turned, like he needed to see the prince to answer. “I have not given it any thought,” he said. “It is easier when the length is gone, but I was accustomed to the feel of it brushing my shoulders. I have little concern for it now, either way. What do you think?”

“Me?” Jared chuckled. He grabbed a handful and tugged, tilting Jensen’s head back gently, and parting his lush lips. He planted a soft kiss and let go of his handful, rubbing the tender spot. “I like it short enough to see all of your face, yet long enough to grab and hold onto. As I told you already, I am a selfish man.” He leered at his lover to make his point.

Jensen smiled in return and let his head fall back into place against the prince’s chest. He was silent for a moment. “I cannot fathom how I have found such solace here,” he said. “You confound me. You do. But still, I turn to you—I _want_ you—when you open yourself to me, that is. It is a conundrum.”

“I am your mate,” Jared said. “It may seem more complex than that, but only because you think so much. Let yourself feel instead.”

“I have to have both,” Jensen replied without hesitation. “I cannot feel useless, set aside when times are hectic. I can be that, your mate, but I have to be more.”

“There is no more,” the prince said, pulling Jensen closer even as he felt him withdraw. “Because it is everything. It is only for us to discover where the balance lies. It becomes what we make of it. I was wrong. I know that now.”

Jensen turned his head and kissed Jared’s shoulder. “Trust me,” he said.

“I do. Or, I try. I have little experience in trust, Jensen. It is unfamiliar territory for me.”

“I will not compare my childhood woes with yours, but I only ever had one friend,” Jensen said. “I was not an outcast. I simply did not belong. Trust is not easy.”

“I do trust you,” Jared replied. “It is more a matter of learning how to express that trust. I will though, I promise.”

Jensen leaned in to kiss him again. A stray hair tickled Jared’s nose and he grinned.

“You were speaking Pershebian,” Jared said.

“When?” Jensen sat back, affronted. “I have not in months. I have worked hard on my language skills.”

The prince put a finger to his mate’s lips, still grinning. “Your Fayarian is excellent,” he agreed. “But you _were_.” He inched down on the bed until he was flat, and pulled Jensen on top of him. He curled one hand around his lover’s neck and one around a firm buttock, and strained upward so that his lips were at Jensen’s ear. “I had you between my hands, and you could not decide which was better, my fist around your cock or my fingers in your hole, so you took both with a fury. And your words, they were filthy, and they _were_ Pershebian.” 

“That does not count,” Jensen breathed. 

Jensen’s hips were moving gently against the prince again, and Jared reached down to encourage it. “No, you are right. It does not count,” he said, and he brought his mate lower again, guiding him in for another kiss.

A knock at the door startled him, but he remained in place. Jensen, however, jumped away and pulled the covers up to his chin.

“My Lords?” 

Jared recognized that voice, it was Steven, the one Jensen had named _Elder_ , and the seasoned Guardsman still smirked when the prince reminded him of it. 

“Enter,” Jared replied. He was frustrated but not angry. No one would disturb them if the matter were not of the most urgency.

It surprised both men to find Marshall Reynolds standing humbly at the entrance to their quarters. “Forgive the intrusion, My Lords.  Prime Minister Ferris begs an audience with the prince.”

His head was lowered, unlike it had been the day they landed on Freyrusia when the man had announced the prime minister’s titles and accolades with a flourish.

Jared nodded and rose to his feet as soon as the door slid shut, leaving them alone once again.

“What are the ‘Steel Bands?’” Jensen asked as he donned clean pants and slipped into another comfortable, dirt-colored tunic. How he had first become accustomed to the tight-fitting royal garb, and then learned to miss it was still difficult for him to comprehend. 

“You want to feel my steel?” The prince waggled his eyebrows. Jensen pushed him away with the flat of his hand. That look did nothing for him.

“ _Bands_ , I said. Steel Bands,” he clarified. “Why do they call you ‘ _Conqueror of the Steel Bands_?’”

They were walking down the corridor now, Marshall Reynolds a handful of steps before them, his hands discreetly tucked at the bow of his back, and Jensen’s Guardsmen following several paces behind.

“Terengala,” the prince replied simply. He continued when Jensen’s look implied that he would persist in his questioning, and Jared owed an explanation to his lover. Many explanations. “Arganthium is only known to exist there, and only in minute quantities. The best young fighters Terengala has to offer guard the mines night and day. It is a right of passage for the Heir to conquer those obstacles and to stake a claim on the precious metal deep within the mines, and to come out unharmed.  It is also a rite of passage for the young warriors of Terengala to thwart the Heir’s journey.” He fingered the delicate chain around his mate’s neck, and grinned at the moan that escaped Jensen’s parted lips when he let his bracelet slide across the links. 

They were in the open corridor, Marshall Reynolds never broke stride, but the astute Guardsmen paused long enough for the Chosen to recover. “Had I not conquered the ‘steel’ on Terengala, I would not have been able to claim you.  And I would not have been deemed fit to lead the Realm.”

Jensen was thinking, the prince could see it in his expression, and knew it better when he had to guide his mate around a corner to avoid an encounter with a different kind of steel that Jensen certainly was not anticipating.

“But Julian claimed Tessa…” Jensen mumbled as Jared redirected his path.

“He did. I have no idea how he knew he would need those links before his Journey,” Jared replied.

Jensen looked at him sideways, dipping his head rather than speaking his agreement. They were nearing the prime minister’s quarters, and the prince could understand his apprehension.

***

  
“I had difficulty believing it myself,” the prime minister said once the doors slid closed and the three of them were left in privacy. She had two tall vasses in her hands, and held them out to each man, pacing away the moment they were accepted. “But it is true. I reviewed the vid-stream personally.”   


“What is true? What have you witnessed?” Jared asked. He sat upon the luxurious divan and brought his mate down at his side. The prince counseled his own inquisitive countenance, reined it in. He ran a thumb across Jensen’s cheek to offer his mate comfort.

The prime minister continued to pace before them. “There are simply too many ways…” she shook her head slowly from side to side.

“Prime Minister,” Jared began, but the woman continued to stride past them, back and forth, lost in thought. 

“I could not shut down the spaceport, Freyrusia and all the worlds beyond the Bands depend on it,” she mumbled to herself. 

The prince slid away from his lover and stood to block her path as she neared again. He held her gently by the shoulders, dipping down to meet her eyes. “Do you see me, or are you elsewhere?”

She shuddered, as if jarred from a trance, and then sank into the cushions beside the Chosen. There was no vas in her hand and Jared thought she might need liquid to ease her speech, so he searched for hers and brought it with him before he again joined them on the plush sofa. 

“Tell me,” he said.

“Gods!” She cursed, putting the vas to her lips and draining most of its contents. “I took the oath. I swore an allegiance to the throne and to Pershebe as has every Royal Guardsman before and after me, and even after my personal disgrace, I have never, ever wavered from that oath.”

Jared considered demanding an answer, as would be his right within the Realm, but beyond the Bands, it was not so simple. But it was also unnecessary; his mate jumped in and smoothed the path before the prince had the time to consider his options.

“You are overwrought,” Jensen said. He grabbed one of the prime minister’s shaking hands and held it in his own. “This, whatever it is, is certainly not something of your doing, so perhaps it is best if you start at the beginning.  Allow us the opportunity to understand.”

Her attention turned to Jensen, and she paused, staring at his face for a moment before sighing deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It is and it is not,” she said. “It is of my doing because I am responsible for all that occurs on Freyrusia.  But no, I had no personal involvement in the matter.”

She was calming, and talking. This was a good start even if Jared still had no idea what she was speaking about.

“What matter are you referring to, exactly?” the prince asked. He tried to keep his tone impartial. “Perhaps we might understand better if we know what has occurred.”

“Yes, of course,” she said as she ran a shaky hand through her hair and chuckled wryly. “As you know, communications on Freyrusia have been closely monitored since your arrival. Well, as closely as they can be in an open spaceport. While communication across the Bands is never a simple matter, Freyrusia is a spaceport first and foremost, so it is common practice to hire a Tradesman or other merchant ship captain to carry Comm messages across the Bands to be dispatched throughout the Realm at that time. I have asked the Dock Chiefs to monitor such activity in the port, but I have little control over what occurs outside those walls. Deals and exchanges take place in the city all the time. I cannot ask the people of Freyrusia to cut off all ties with other planets without providing an explanation.”

“And someone has tried to send a message to my father on Fayar,” Jared surmised.

“Not exactly,” she continued. “I suppose it would have been too obvious if it were addressed that way. This Comm was going to General Worthy. It was the captain of a scout-class vessel who was approached with the offer, and he brought it to me. He thought it seemed a strange request, so he accepted the Comm along with a substantial bribe to make the transaction appear authentic. And then he sent one of his men to shadow the mysterious man who had made the request.”

Jared saw the blank look on Jensen’s face and explained, “Worthy is the president of Gerandella.”  And then he turned to resume his questioning of the prime minister.  “Someone who lives on Freyrusia is trying to communicate with Rick Worthy?”

“That’s just it,” Ferris said. “I would be more curious than concerned had the request come from a Freyrusian, but the captain’s man followed the cloaked figure all the way into the spaceport and down to the docks. He had to stop quite a distance away when the man shed his cloak and entered Dock 21 wearing the Royal Colors.”

“The _Gratius_!” Jensen whispered. “Someone aboard the _Gratius_ tried to send a Comm to the leader of Gerandella.” There was a hint of something in his voice that Jared did not quite understand, but Jensen seemed to snap out of it before turning to the prime minister. “Do you have the Comm?”

Ferris crossed to her desk and retrieved the document. Her expression was stern, but her hands were still trembling. For the first time, Jared realized they were shaking in anger not in fright. The prime minister was as angry as he was. 

Jared held the document between himself and his mate so they could both read it. It was simple and to the point, if you knew what you were reading and where it had originated: “Both Gems on Frey. They are still separate packages. Can have one or both. What is your offer?”

“We need to discuss this,” Jared said, indicating himself and his mate. “And then we will summon the War Council for a thorough debriefing upon Premier Brown’s arrival. For now I believe we are safe in the knowledge that the perpetrator believes his message is being delivered.” He rose to leave. “Thank you, Prime Minister. If not for your efforts, we would be facing a certain trap upon our return to the Realm.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “It is my desire to see us unified with the Realm, My Lord. Perhaps this new communication ability you have described will provide us with that opportunity.”

Jared grinned at his mate, holding out a hand to help him from the divan. He rubbed along Jensen’s bicep with the back of his fingers. He knew it made Jensen antsy to show such displays, but at moments like this one, he could not help it. “Perhaps we will. Fayar would only be greater if its realm included Freyrusia.”

____________________

  
“But I did not!” Chris growled. He would have thrown his platter across the room, had Megalyn not somehow already removed it from his reach. The dining hall was silent, and all eyes were turned in their direction.    


Days had passed since his match with the commander, and he’d had no time to discuss it with her, to unload. They were nearing Freyrusia now, and Commander Benedict had insisted on a full-out push, requiring Megalyn’s presence on the Command Deck most days. And Christian demanded that she rest whenever she was not. 

She leaned forward and hissed between clenched teeth. “I believe it is time for us to depart, _Fighter_!”

“Eat,” he insisted. That and sleep were the only things he had any control over.

She jerked the tray from the table and walked out. “Follow,” she said without looking back.

The return to her quarters was silent and tense. He usually led, not because it was an issue, but because his legs were longer and he enjoyed the simple pleasure of scanning doors open for her. This evening, though, she strode resolutely before him. Her shoulders square and her legs close together, all hints of her burgeoning pregnancy hidden beneath years of military training. Christian did not like it at all.

She turned on him the second the door slid closed, her timing impeccable. She let the tray fall on the nearest table with a solid thud. “What was the meaning of that?” She demanded. “You have no right to treat me in such a way. These people respect me. They rely on me. In a crisis, it will be my decisions that they must follow without question.” She pushed against his chest with the palm of her hand. He stumbled a step back. “How dare you put their confidence in jeopardy!”

“I—,” Christian started. He had nothing. She was right. He was a fighter himself, now with even more experience. How had he let his frustration overcome him? He lifted a hand, wanting to reach out and touch her, but knew better. He did not deserve that privilege. He had abused it. Instead, he pushed the hair away from his own brow, and lowered his eyes. She deserved his contrition. “You are right. It was an unpardonable offense, My Lady.”

Megalyn studied him for a while, then smiled. She reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, caressed his cheek. “Perhaps not completely unforgivable, if we can come to an accord now.” She dropped into the plush chair, pulled her tray toward her and took a bite of the tepid food. “Now, tell me what has you so troubled.”

Christian’s spirit was buoyed, both by her easy acceptance of his apology, and by her consumption of food. This was his life now, bound to another and doing what he could to keep her and their child safe. He was not always good at it, but he did his best. She took another bite. He liked that.

“I did not know him,” he said, still pacing the room. It was nice, having the space to stride here, where his previous quarters had allowed none. “You taught me that the key to victory was knowing my enemy. I did not.” The weight of his confession eased his conscience. He had thought about it for days now, smiled and nodded as Royal Guardsmen acknowledged his victory, and seethed inwardly, knowing that it had simply been a fluke.

“I did not,” he repeated, his head in his hands. “If I had, I would have known if he could shoot left-handed. I would have known his strategy. I did not. I knew none of it. I took the opportunity light-blindness granted me and strode atop that knoll to overcome my momentarily weakened opponent. I am not proud of that.”

“You should be.”

“What?” He peeked out from between his hands.

“You should be proud,” Megalyn continued. She pulled him down to sit on the arm of her chair. “Knowing your enemy does not mean you know everything about them. It simply means that you have enough knowledge of the foe that you face to overcome their momentary advantages, and that you are not afraid to use that information against them. It might only be a look in an eye, or the dip of a shoulder.” She ran a hand along his arm, across his shoulder and stopped long enough to knead the tense muscles at the base of his neck.

“In time of war, how can you expect to know each and every adversary you face? That would be an unmanageable burden. So knowing your enemy is also about knowing yourself,” she said. “You cannot realize your strengths without understanding your weaknesses as well. And in every battle, you have weaknesses.”

“Thanks,” he huffed, leaning back against her fingers.

“Weaknesses are what make us real,” she continued. “They define us and allow us to grow. In the battle with Rob, you overcame them. You did not allow yourself to venture out into the open, as you are so apt to do, instead you lingered behind the knoll the arena provided. You also hid your eyes from the arc of the Disc, relying on your other senses to know that your enemy had not encroached upon your position.”

“I did?”

“You did. These are not always purposeful decisions. Some are simply those that come innately to the fighter that you are, and the thinker you have become. To the man who may have more to learn but has much more to offer.”

“Gods!” Christian pushed her back against the chair and straddled her hips. He cradled her head in his hands and kissed her lips deeply. “How did I come to deserve the paragon that you are?”

Megalyn brought her own hands up, mimicking the position of Christian’s. She offered up one more kiss and then her smile faded. “For you, Christian, I bent my oath until it all but broke. And such lifelong vows are not made to bend. So trade that devotion for an oath of your own. Today, pledge to me whatever I ask of you. Give me your vow.”

“What would you ask of me?” Christian inquired, still cradling her cheeks.

“No.” Megalyn shook her head, dislodging his fingers. “It is an oath that I ask you to make on faith. I have given you all that I am, give me this.”

“Anything. Ask anything and it will be yours,” he swore.

She took a deep breath, and her hand trailed along the swell of her belly. “Swear that whatever else might happen once we arrive on Freyrusia, that you will see your son safe on Pershebe.”

“Our son,” Christian corrected. It was more of a stall tactic than anything else.

“He will be yours once the Royal Guard departs,” she whispered, nuzzling his thumb. “I need this from you. Give me this.”

“Gods!” Christian swore again. “You ask so much of me, but so little at the same time.” He pulled away from her and sat on the floor at her feet. He placed a single kiss on her knee before looking up into wide brown eyes. 

“You have my vow.”

____________________

  
“I would like to accompany you,” Jensen said.   


Misha turned. “We are just going to purchase more of those seeds you gifted me. A couple of hours at most, we will not be gone long.”

Jensen shrugged. He looked toward the Tradesman and then back to Misha. “Jared is busy with preparations for the premier’s arrival tomorrow and I like the city. It seems the perfect opportunity. I suspect I will be too busy to enjoy it once he and his entourage have arrived, so I want to experience what the city has to offer while I still can.” He caught Misha’s skeptical expression and continued. “I was the one who found those seeds. Perhaps there are more treasures beyond this spaceport that I might discover.”

“Perhaps there is more trouble instead.” Misha frowned.

“What fun are treasures without trouble,” Nemec said. He winked at Jensen and pushed both younger men toward the northern spaceport exit.

The moment the doors slid open and fresh air made his nostrils flare, Misha shook his head in frustration, slowing his steps. “I a not certain—”

“Shhh,” Jensen growled, passing by him quickly and spilling out into the daylight without hesitation. He drew in a deep, cleansing breath of fresh air. “I thought you were my friend, not my keeper.”

Misha bristled. “I am your friend. Friends are allowed to show their concern, you know,” he mumbled as he followed along behind. “Is that so unusual on Pershebe?”

Jensen exhaled. His gruff façade crumbled. “I am sorry, Misha. You are my friend. I have not known many, so you might say it is new for me.” He tried to grin, even as Nemec rushed them away from the exit. It would only be minutes before his Guardsmen reported his location back to the prince, and while he had no desire to ditch his loyal contingent, he still wanted some time to explore before Jared demanded that he return or that the prince, himself, accompany them. Jensen still had much to discover on Freyrusia, and he felt his efforts would be stymied with the Heir of Fayar at his side.

“Let us go,” the Tradesman said.

Jensen nodded, looked back at his three Guardsmen to be certain that they were following, and headed out. He had no interest in losing them; they had earned his loyalty as surely as he had earned theirs.

Within minutes, they had made their way down to one of those wide passageways Nemec had called a boulevard, and Misha was enjoying the eccentricities of the inhabitants and their wares as much as Jensen had on his first foray into the blustering city.

“Five pentanos,” a voice called out from Jensen’s left. “For only five, you can have this fine table cover that my mother stitched herself.”

Jensen looked at it closely. “It is beautiful, but I do not have a table,” he said, and walked on to the next vendor.

Misha laughed. 

“Hmmm?” Jensen queried.

Misha shook his head. “I thought you could not handle these people. I guess I was mistaken.”

“What?” Jensen asked again, following along behind his friend. “I do not have a table.”

Misha simply shook his head.

Two small children darted out from a stand a few steps before them, and Nemec had to pull Jensen back to keep him from tripping over them. Even then, it was close. A woman ran around the corner and scolded them both, apologizing profusely as the little boy and girl giggled in her grasp.

“How old are they?” Jensen asked.

Her eyes grew wide. Nemec whispered in his ear. “Space travelers do not speak so freely to the locals. And while you might dress like them, you do not sound like them.”

“Forgive me, My Lady,” Jensen smiled and dipped his head as he had seen so many on Freyrusia do. “Your children are beautiful and full of life. I was simply curious about their ages.”

She flustered at his first word, and could barely keep her eyes upon him at his last, but finally mustered the courage to respond. “Regnald is just now two annums. And his sister,” she paused to glare at the older child, “Who is five, was supposed to be entertaining him. She is Elza.”

The little girl knew enough to let her grin fade. She looked sheepishly to her mother and muttered something so softly that Jensen could not hear.

“They are beautiful,” he told the woman. “And your daughter seems quite mature. I am certain you are proud.”

The woman stood tall and smiled at that, rubbing a fond hand across the top of her daughter’s head. “I am,” she said.

Nemec guided him away, and Jensen was suddenly lost in the environment. There were children everywhere. Why had he not noticed them before? Some clung to their parents' legs or hands as strangers passed, others followed along behind the adults, looking around absently and only running to catch up when they were summoned. And some ran ahead, laughing and giddy, and anxious to explore what the market had to offer. They were all so full of life.

“I found them!” Misha called out. He’d made his way to a booth several stands away. “Over here!”

By the time Jensen and the Tradesman arrived, Misha had a sack filled with the firm, red orbs, and another filled with packets of dried seeds.

“And these will last…awhile?” Misha asked the shopkeeper. “It will be, um, some time before I am able to plant them.”

The man nodded in assurance, and Misha walked away, a secret smile on his lips.

“Can we return to Sanford’s Vasseríe?” Jensen turned to the Tradesman. “I feel I have unfinished business there.”

“Unfinished business?” Nemec gaped. “What? I did not take enough blows to defend your honor the last time?”

Jensen ducked his head. “I did not ask you to,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Gods!” Nemec swore, grabbing his arm and leading him down the familiar road. “How does anyone resist you?”

Jensen looked at him, puzzled. And then looked back to Misha who was still fondling his fruit.

 

The Vasseríe was dimly lit today, and the crowd was thinner, less bawdy. But Sanford still loomed tall behind the bar. All seemed to suit Jensen’s purpose. He had questions to ask, and this was the man to answer them.

The three headed straight to the bar, and before Jensen could utter a word, three _Nescias_ were placed on the dull metal surface. “It is an honor, My Chosen,” Sanford said.

That was a new phrase for Jensen, _My Chosen_ , and he wondered if it was simply an idiom commonplace amongst the Royal Guard.

Misha was surveying his surroundings and sipping the new beverage, and Nemec was easing back against the bar now that he saw how vacant the pub was, so it was the perfect opening for Jensen. He dipped his head as he had done to the mother on the street—it seemed to elicit a favorable response then, so it was probably a good thing to do now. “I thank you for your assistance on my last venture into your city, but I have many questions, and I hoped that you might sit with me, in private, and help me understand.”

Sanford’s eyes darted from Jensen to Nemec to the Guardsmen, but he simply nodded in the end. He gestured to a door behind the bar, and Jensen ducked beneath the counter so that he could follow him. He did not turn to see the Tradesman’s reaction, or that of his guards.

____________________

  
“What?!” Jared demanded. He pushed the sopping wet hair away from his brow and stepped out of the shower. Water dripped down his legs to the tiles and flowed toward the lowest point in the room, but none of that was of importance now. He glared at Commander Pileggi, who stood at attention in the middle of his bath suite. “I thought they were due to arrive in the morn.”   


“They were, My Lord,” the commander replied. “We have had only a brief Comm from Premier Brown’s second to alert us of their hurried arrival. It seems that Aldis is not fairing well and they are on a fool’s rush now. Doing what they can to dock before…”

The commander’s words, or lack there of, were enough for Jared. No one would sleep aboard that vessel until it docked, and no one would be beyond conscription if the premier required more hands, not even the kitchen staff. “I understand,” he said, waving toward the door. “Where is Jensen? He needs to be here.”

Pileggi appeared startled. “He does?”

“He does!” Jared growled. “He is the only one who knows of these poisons, and he has spent unknown hours studying them and preparing a treatment since we heard of Aldis’ fate. Find out where he is and make certain that he is prepared.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Pileggi dipped his head and departed.

Gods! This day had started out spectacularly, with his mate curled in his arms and smiling up at him with warm, green eyes and soft, supple lips. And now Jared stood naked and alone, water still dripping from his skin, with the prospect of meeting Premier Brown, his ailing son, and the Chief Ritualist, all without his mate at his side.

____________________

  
If Jensen thought the ritual upon their arrival on Freyrusia was elaborate and ostentatious, it was nothing compared to this. Jared explained to him that their clandestine landing had afforded them few frills, and that made sense to Jensen. But this? Jensen would not have been surprised if bugles began to blare and dancers poured in from both dock entrances.   


As it was, he stood at the prince’s side, wearing royal colors for the first time in weeks, and tried to quell the tremble in his limbs as he observed the hundred or more Fayarian officers, and twice as many Freyrusians, all who stood at attention and awaited the opening of the hatch that held Jensen’s greatest fear: The Chief Ritualist.

There were others aboard that vessel of equal importance, he knew, but only one who held Jensen’s fate in his hands. What would this man think of him? Would Jensen be deemed worthy of his place in the Realm? And should that even matter to him? These were all thoughts Jensen had set aside in the preceding months as he worked toward goals. He had first struggled to keep his berries and his soul alive, and then it was his work on communication, both his own, and with that across the Bands. After that, he had focused intensely on the poisons and on the politics of a Realm he could only begin to comprehend. So today was the first time, other than fleeting moments, that he had taken the time to focus on his own fate. He sucked in a harsh breath, unsure if it would even escape.

“Relax,” Jared whispered, standing just as stiffly at his side. “You have nothing to fear.”

Jensen cast a sideways glance at him and grimaced. Much easier said by the man who had only his status to lose, while he himself might possibly forfeit his life. 

“No,” Jared said, like he could read his mind. “No one will take you from me. I will pull that pendant out of its box and force it upon your chain if it means keeping you alive.”

And even if the concept should not have been reassuring, it was. It made Jensen reach a hand into his pocket just to make certain it was still there.

The hatch began to open, and a tall, black man exited, ducking low to keep from banging his head on the rising door. Jensen waited for him to shout out the accolades of some superior who was still to follow, but instead, he glanced around the bay and made his way toward the prince. The dock was filled with one, loud communal gasp. It was the premier himself, striding toward Jared. Jensen had seen him on the vidscreen twice already, but he was different now. He looked smaller, harried, and tired beyond just the sleep missed since they last spoke. 

“My Lord,” he said as he reached them. “Lords. Jared…”

His crumpled expression was more than Jensen could take, and he turned his head to afford the two men at least the hint of privacy.

“Premier,” Jared said, grabbing both shoulders to steady the older man. “What do you need?”

“I do not know,” Brown confessed. “But Aldis lingers near death. He has had two fits already, and I fear he will pass into his next journey with another.”

“Come on,” Jared urged, pushing the premier back toward the ship and neglecting all protocol. “Let us see to him.”

Jensen followed along, a short distance behind, and he was glad for the separation when a robust woman in flowing robes greeted the two world leaders at the door. The hat that sat just off to the side of her head and still somehow managed to parallel the ground would have made him laugh at any other time. The words he heard from Jared’s mouth, however froze him in his tracks.

“Ritualist Devine. I am so pleased to have you here. You will be such a comfort to our people in these trying times, and to me.” Jared said as he hugged the woman and kissed each cheek, and then nodded toward the door behind her. “Forgive my hasty departure, Chief Ritualist.”

The woman accepted his kisses and then pushed him toward the ship. “Go on, baby. You have things to do.”

A woman. Jensen just stared at her. The Chief Ritualist was a woman. For some reason that had never occurred to him. He thought back to the times they had discussed this person who now stood between him and the vessel Jared had just boarded, and it was quite possible that the prince had referred to her as a woman, but apparently Jensen’s mind had not accounted for that factor. He gasped in a breath as she started moving in his direction.

“Garish, I know,” she whispered in his ear as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, one hand gesturing to the outfit she wore. “But this is an official Welcoming, so I am stuck with it.” She leaned in to kiss his other cheek, a finger gently touching his chain, and whispered, “I am glad you got my message, baby. You did the right thing. Your time will come soon enough.” She patted the lump in his pocket. “Now get in there, baby, you have someone who needs you more than I do.” 

Jensen ran up the steps to the door. He glanced back for a moment before entering. She was a woman. And he had heard her voice before.


	12. Chapter 12

It was difficult for any man to face his Parallax, Misha supposed.  But perhaps it was that he considered himself a simple man, one from such humble roots and with negligible aspirations that made this walk with the Chief Ritualist all the more impossible for him to fathom.  It was a journey he would have never thought conceivable for the orphan boy he had been just a dozen annums earlier.  The boy who had navigated the alleys and gutters in the fringe of Julimar in search of crumbs of bread or remnants of clothing had no business walking his Parallax:  the journey in which only important people partook.  And that was not an image Misha had ever envisaged of himself.

No.  Misha would never have been here, walking barefoot through the sand and pebbles of this palm and cactus garden, with Fayar’s Chief Ritualist at his side, if it had not been for his steadfast dedication.  Dedication first to his younger brother, and then to the plants the Acolytes and Ritualists in the holy city of Julimar had shown him how to understand and appreciate, and finally, his dedication to the Chosen.  Misha’s life had certainly been dedicated to dedication.

So he sucked in a deep breath and spoke the first words between them.  “My brother?”

Loretta was no longer confined in her elaborate celebratory robes, but still the sleeves of her garment dragged the ground as she clasped his hands.  Then she reached up, touched his face with her fingertips, and smiled her love upon him.  “No one knows, do they?  You have shared no part of your life with these friends, have you?”

“I never thought my past life was of much import,” Misha replied.  He bowed his head even lower before her fingers lifted it high.

“You have always been special, Misha,” the Chief Ritualist said, her voice as smooth as her smile.  “Until now you have borne your burdens alone.  But you have a good friend now; why not share your secrets with him, as he has with you?  I think he would gladly halve your sorrow.”

Misha closed his eyes and pondered his actions, or lack of such.  Had he purposely closed the door to his past when he accepted the job as an agrician on the Royal Vessel?  Was he ashamed of his past life?  Or was it simply that he considered his life and hardships of no consequence to others?

He felt himself moving and opened his eyes.  The Chief Ritualist guided him by the elbow to a bench painted a deep cerulean blue that stood out in contrast against the tans and faded greens of the desert garden.

Misha sat down and continued to ponder.  He was not ashamed of his lowly beginnings, or the years he spent scavenging the streets of Julimar to provide for himself and his brother.  Scavenging that sometimes resulted in begging or even outright theft, when he grew desperate.  Nor was he ashamed of the time he had spent staring after passing Ritualists and mimicking their style.

He was even modestly pleased when those same Ritualists took notice of him sneaking over their fence, and endeavored to teach him enough about the plants he “scavenged” from their gardens so that he could learn to grow some of his own, or at least tend theirs and earn the fruit that he had gathered.  And he was immensely proud that they had found such hope and favor in his little brother, that they welcomed Brett into their compound and offered him a novitiate.  An offer that Misha’s brother, with his clear, serious eyes and innocent smile had instantly accepted.

So, no.  Misha shook his head as he answered at least one of his self-posed questions.  He was not ashamed of his life.  He was proud to have provided for himself and his brother until he could find a better place for Brett to live.  He had two more silent questions to muddle through, but another was more pressing.

“How is my brother?” he asked.  “I have not seen him in many annums.”

Loretta nodded her head.  “I remember,” she said.  “You left Julimar just after Brett took his name and entered our doors.  And then you continued your studies in the great capital city of Mettal, right?”

Misha nodded.

“And in those, what, six or seven annums, you have not spoken to your brother?  Not even once?”

“I wanted him to find a life of his own,” Misha whispered.  He dipped his head low again.  Perhaps he was not so proud of his past life after all.

Loretta smiled kindly.  “Do not fear what you discover here, with me.  These are difficult steps to take, walking along this awakening road is arduous for anyone.”

Misha walked through the immense blue gates that offered both admission to, and egress from the gardens some time later; he had no idea how long his walk had taken.  And while he had reasons to be angry, as well as reasons to be concerned, he walked away with an overall sense of strength and fulfillment.  He was worried for his brother and would address those concerns with the prince later, but now he pondered the last question the Chief Ritualist posed to him.  She had looked him steadfastly in the eye, and spoken words that might change the direction of his journeys forever: “You have proven your worth already, and while your Journey may take you from us, as your fate is beyond my prediction, it will play a key part in securing all that is Fayar and keeping the people of the Realm safe from harm.  Are you prepared to sacrifice this journey for your next if that is what it requires?”

Yes, Misha decided as he continued back to the spaceport, he thought he was.

____________________

Jensen awoke with a start.  He lifted his head a tiny bit off the hard bedside table that he had apparently found pillow-like in his exhaustion, and stared into the clear brown eyes of the man lying on the hospital bed beside him.

“Where am I?” Aldis asked, his voice barely a rasp, wrecked by dehydration and disuse.  “Are…are you a Curer?”

“Me?  No, I am…I am just, just Jensen,” the Chosen mumbled, sitting up straighter as he roused to complete wakefulness.

Aldis studied Jensen now that he was awake, and scanned from his head down as far as he could see with the rolling table between them.  He smiled momentarily before he turned back to himself and glanced along the length of his arms and what he could see of his torso above the sheets, and then frowned.  “I can see who you are, you wear the mark of the Chosen, but what has become of me?  And why are we here, together?”

“You have been gravely ill,” Jensen said as he rose from his post at Aldis’ bedside.  His bones creaked, and he took a moment to arch his back in a respectful stretch to placate his body’s protests.  “But you seem to be faring better now.  I was fortunate to have studied some treatments for what seemed to have affected you.  And you are fortunate to have responded to them.”

“I am not myself,” Aldis said, studying his ashen, shriveled hands.

“You will be, I believe,” Jensen replied.  He held out his own hand in greeting, waiting until Aldis accepted it before he continued.  “I am Jensen—”

“Your fingertips are blue,” Aldis interrupted.

 “Yes, as are your lips,” Jensen chuckled softly.  “That is a temporary consequence of the medicine that brought back your coherence, I am afraid.  My fingers crushed it, and your lips consumed it.  But you did not let me finish.  You have travelled a great distance and are now in the medical ward in the spaceport on Freyrusia.”

“Freyrusia!”  Aldis exclaimed, licking his lips unconsciously.  “I am far from home.  Where is my bride?  My father?”  He stopped and studied the Chosen for a moment.  “Where is our prince?”

“Easy,” Jensen replied, lowering his voice in the hope that it would allay some of Aldis’ anxiety.  “Both your father and the prince are here.  I do not know about your bride, but I have been told she fares well on Fayar—”

Aldis sat upright, immediately succumbing to a fit of coughing.

“Shh,” Jensen said.  “You are still quite ill.”

“Summon the prince,” Aldis rasped between fits.  “Or my father.  I have news to share.”

“I will send—” Jensen began when the door slid open and Major Parrack entered.  It was no surprise.  The young officer had shown great concern from the moment Aldis arrived in the medical ward, and he stopped by at least a couple of times on each of Jensen’s nearly unending shifts there.

“Gods!” Parrack exclaimed.  “Finally, he is awake.  Is he okay?”

“He seems to be faring well,” Jensen replied.  “But he has issues to discuss with his father and the prince.  Would you be so kind as to locate them?”

“Certainly,” the major agreed.  “Or I will stay here if it is easier.  I am Fayarian and it might be more comfortable for him to converse with me.”

Jensen frowned.  The thought had not occurred to him, so he took a moment to consider it.  “No, not yet.  I think it is best that I stay until I am certain the toxins have truly vacated his system.”

Parrack smiled and nodded his agreement.  “Very well.  You have done a wonderful job so far; I trust your judgment, My Lord.  I will hurry back.”

____________________

Jared had heard rumors of it.  Whispers of a journey within yourself that you may never wish to take, but from which you would return a better person…your Parallax.  The walk you take when you see yourself from a different perspective, from somewhere you may have never considered, never seen, never felt before.  It was a terrifying concept, but now it was time for the Heir of Fayar to walk his own Parallax with the Chief Ritualist as his guide, and he would not cower from it.  It was his duty to see his life from a perspective he may never have considered, and might forever after regret.  He had made many mistakes, he knew, and taken many risks as well along the way.  He worried now how his life would reflect back upon him, when it was he himself looking out at it—but perhaps not exactly himself, something larger, something greater than himself, something that was intended to find meaning where Jared might never have seen meaning before.

It was already two days since the premier’s ship had arrived, and nearly as long since Jared had spent time alone with his mate, busy as Jensen was in the medical ward with Aldis.  Jared would have liked the comfort he found in his mate’s presence before he took this walk, but he supposed it was better without it.  Whatever he faced on his Parallax, he would face it alone.

“Excuse me, My Lord,” Misha muttered as the doors slid open and admitted him to the prince’s quarters without permission.  “Might I have a word before you take your walk?”

Jared was startled, but came back to himself quickly.  “Of course.”  He smiled at the agrician who had so easily wormed his way into Jared’s regard.

“Forgive my forwardness, My Lord,” Misha began.  He tucked his hands behind his back and walked alongside the prince as they made their way out of the spaceport and toward the gardens where Misha had taken his own walk just hours earlier.  “I would not interrupt such a momentous occasion in your life except to beg intercession on behalf of someone I hold dear.  Someone much more important than myself.”

Jared stopped mid-stride.  “Who?” he growled, grabbing Misha’s shoulders.  “Who is in such peril?”  The lines creasing his forehead validated his sincerity.

“It is my brother for whom I request your intervention,” Misha admitted as he began walking again.  “He was little more than a babe when we lost all that we had, and I provided for him as best as I could.  The Gods smiled upon him, and I thought on myself as well, when the Ritualists accepted him into their order.  But now the Chief Ritualist has asked him for the greatest of sacrifices and he has given it without question.”  Misha stopped for a moment.  He brought a fist to his mouth and waited to collect himself once more.  He appreciated that the prince stood silently at his side.  “They have sent him into the enemy’s den, to mingle, to be pretty and mindless, to be their spy…and it seems that he has accepted this as his fate.  My only family, my innocent little brother, lives of his own accord…as a catamite in Leader Jeff’s home!”

“Gods, no!” Jared exclaimed.  “Who would ask such of a child?”

Misha dropped his chin for what seemed the hundredth time that day, and continued walking toward the gardens where the prince would soon experience his own Parallax.  “My brother is no longer a babe; he has reached his eighteenth ascension.  But he is innocent of heart, and had been of body…” he sneered the last part of his statement.

“And the Ritualists tasked him with this?  Is that what you are telling me?” Jared asked.  It was hard to believe.  The Ritualists were responsible for the preservation of faith and truth in all of the Realm, how could they be responsible for such an act?

“I am asking much of you, My Lord,” Misha acknowledged in a whisper.  He did not raise his eyes, understanding keenly that this was a humble request based on trust.  “But he is all that I have left.”

Jared stood before the giant blue gates that would open and admit him to the gardens and turned to his comrade.  “I must first walk my own awakening road, Misha, but know that if I can intervene in any way, I will,” he vowed, placing a gentle hand on Misha’s shoulder.

“Thank you, My Lord.”  Misha bowed deeply, as he had never done before, and turned back toward the spaceport.

Jared whispered the words into his Comm…the ones that would temporarily relieve him of his responsibilities to the Realm.  They might possibly have been the most difficult words he had ever spoken.

____________________

As soon as Aldis closed his eyes and Jensen assured himself that the prince’s dear friend was indeed lost to slumber, he wandered out into the corridor, hoping he could find his way through the maze of passages to the eatery.  He knew Parrack would return with either the premier or the prince soon, but Jensen’s baser instincts were driving him now, and he needed to answer to them.  He turned, following the flashing yellow line along the wall, the one he was certain a Curer’s assistant had assured him led to the eatery when he felt the full weight of another upon his hip.

“Oh, pardon,” he offered in his best Fayarian.

“No, it was I,” a woman responded humbly.  “Forgive me, My Lord.  I was searching for you, but it was not my intent to fall upon you.”  She dropped gracefully to her knees and lowered her head.

Jensen glanced down at the woman.  She did not look up to meet his eyes.  Her long, light brown hair tumbled loosely about her shoulders, which remained square despite her submissive position.

“I…I do not understand,” Jensen whispered.

“It is difficult for those unfamiliar with Delthestican customs to appreciate,” a deep voice replied.  It was a voice Jensen had heard before, and he turned his head toward it.  There in the corridor before him stood Premier Brown, the leader of Delthestica, and one of Jared’s trusted War Council members.

“On Delthestica,” the premier continued, “even the highest ranking officers confer their humble submission to those they hold in high regard.  It is a gift they convey to only a few, and it is a gift that they offer only of their own accord.  It is never a requirement.  Jensen, the Chosen, this is Amber Benson, the Delegate.  I chose Amber because I believe she is the best that Delthestica has to offer.  And I thank the Gods that it was her passion to accept the role of Delegate and provide this service for you.  Amber is a Delthestican warrior, and her fire and strength will keep the next Heir of Fayar safe.”  With that, the premier stepped passed Jensen, turned, and dropped to one knee beside the woman.  And Jensen was lost for what to do.

It took only a moment though, for a thought to come to him, and he considered it a side effect of his months aboard a space vessel with so many from different worlds, that a response came so quickly to mind.  “Well, I am from Pershebe, and it is a custom on my home world that only the _Unfortunate_ kneel.”  He took a deep breath and plodded on when he saw the premier glance up.  “And while it is a crass term and an abuse of power that I am not pleased to share as your first knowledge of my world, I would not like it to be one I associate with the leader of Delthestica or the woman who has consented to carry and protect my child and the next Heir of Fayar.”

When the woman looked up hesitantly, Jensen went for broke.  “Please, do not kneel.  What you are giving me is more precious than the _sural_ beads created by the unpredictable motions of the _Tisal Waters_ on Pershebe _._ You might not understand my words, but if you did, you would know just how precious your gift is, and that it is I that should kneel before you.”

“No!”  Amber scrambled to her feet.  “Please, do no such thing.  I have seen a _sural_ bead.  There are said to be only three in all the Realm.  I saw one in the Muso in Julimar.  It was like a tiny, golden world in its own, but its swirling crimson lines shifted and blurred when I stared at it.  It seemed to pulse with my heartbeat…it was marvelous.  They say that King Julian returned with all three, and that they were tokens of Lindsey’s love.”

“Perhaps they were,” Jensen shrugged.  “Can we talk?  I would like a few minutes with you.  I feel that I should know more about you before…you know.”  He felt his cheeks heat, and it was difficult to continue.  “I am going to the eatery, are you hungry?”

“No,” Premier Brown interrupted.

“I…I am sorry,” Jensen mumbled, pulling away.

“No, it is not that, My Lord.”  Brown rushed to explain.  “I hope that you can understand the sensitivity of such an endeavor.  It cannot be said that you spent time alone with your chosen Delegate.  It is why I have accompanied her here.”

“Yes, I…uh, yes, I guess I understand…”

“We can certainly talk,” Amber interrupted.  “We can all go into Aldis’ room for privacy.”

Jensen smiled.  “That will work.  Although he sleeps now, Aldis has regained consciousness and has a desire to speak with his father.  Major Parrack is in search of you and the prince as we converse.”  It was perfect, the premier would be distracted by conversation with his son, and this would be as close to privacy as Jensen could hope to find with the woman who was soon to swear an oath to give his child’s life priority over her own.

They entered Aldis’ room silently, the premier immediately heading to his son’s bedside, and Jensen pulled two chairs away from the table near the door, waiting for Amber to take a seat before he took his own.

He cleared his throat as quietly as he could; it was dry and raspy.  This was a discussion he was uncertain how to undertake, but he knew the highlights, so he inhaled deeply before speaking softly, “I am at such a loss for words.  And while I still struggle at times with my new language, I fight much more fervently with the emotions that I had disparaged until now.  I have only recently learned that I can have a child, a dear dream that I had thought beyond my abilities in this new life of mine, and it is you that is granting me that.”

Amber closed her eyes for a moment.  “I am merely a vessel, My Lord.  It is the Gods that give you this hope.  But it is my desire to see it through.”

Jensen sighed.  “Then I am forever in your debt.”

____________________

“Relax,” Megalyn said.  “I am not that far along.  One Curer aboard a vessel of Royal Guardsmen cannot be that proficient in the knowledge of a routine pregnancy.  I am certain he is mistaken.”  She rubbed a hand fondly across the swell of her belly.  “I feel huge.  We already orbit Freyrusia, and once we have the okay and appropriate landing patterns, we will land and I will seek medical advice there.  Surely this huge mound cannot be considered too small.” 

“I will attend you,” Christian said.  He sat uneasily at her side, one moment afraid to touch, and the next, afraid to withhold it.

Megalyn smiled.  “You cannot.  The marshal forbade it.  But do not worry, I will return immediately.  And I will tell you everything, truthfully.”

“Why would he forbid it?” Christian asked.

Megalyn shrugged.  “I have no answer for you.  Perhaps it is that you are Pershebian, perhaps something else.  I have only his orders to follow.”

Christian glanced down at the clothing that he had only recently become accustomed to.  “Do I dress differently than the Royal Guardsmen on this vessel?  Do I fight less efficiently?”  His questions were rhetorical, and he glared fiercely at her.  “Do I speak only Pershebian?”

“These are not my orders, Fighter.”  Megalyn sat forward and her voice became firm.  “And perhaps that is the difference.  I endeavor to follow mine.”

Christian backed off at the implication.  He nodded without adding anything more.  He owed his mate something far from belligerence.  He owed her his support, even if she did not realize her need.  Instead, he rose again, and walked to the large portal.  Freyrusia loomed before him, and someone there had the answers regarding their son’s health and safety.  And Megalyn would not hear them alone.

____________________

The mammoth azure gates opened in upon themselves once Jared stood alone, revealing a wide path lined on both sides by tall, narrow bamboo spines whose wispy overhead limbs and fronds formed a latticework arch that masked the sky.  For as far as he could see, a narrow reflecting pool cut a swath up the middle of the path, separating it into two, like a boulevard.  The water was a jade green, reflecting the bamboo branches and fronds far overhead.  He tried not to peer into it, for he was certain that all he would see when he did was himself.  The pool’s borders were the same azure blue as the massive gates, and wide enough for Jared to sit upon if he felt the need, but now he wanted only to find the Chief Ritualist.  He expected this would be easier, or at least faster, if he did not take breaks.

As if in answer to his musings, a young woman appeared before him clad in the classic sky blue vestments worn by the Acolytes of the Ritualists.  She stood silently until Jared took a step forward, and then she turned and led him directly toward the reflecting pool.  She waved a hand and bent her knees, as if indicating he should sit in exactly the spot he had only just considered, the one that would make his walk all the longer and more challenging.

He took his seat without question, though.  This was not his day to make decisions.  At first light, he had handed over his command duties to General Beaver, as protocol dictated, in preparation for this walk, and then moments before he took his first steps through the giant gates, he conferred all his executive duties on Freyrusia upon Commander Pileggi.  This path had been created for him to walk long ago, now it was time for him to take it.

He sat alone on the low retaining wall at the water’s edge where his knees remained higher than his hips, for long enough that the grainy finish started to insult his buttocks, and he shifted to find a more comfortable position.

It was odd, being this free.  He could not resume command today; it was beyond his authority.  And once the giant blue gates slid silently shut, he was bound here until his Parallax was complete.  Perhaps that should not have felt like freedom, but somehow it melded into that perception.  He shifted again, realizing only then that he had been sitting in a small puddle of water that now soaked high into his left pant leg.  He lifted off his left buttock, and angled more to the right, hoping the air might help dry out the fabric before it chafed his skin and became too uncomfortable.  And just that simple twist had him staring directly into the pool.  It was mesmerizing.  The murky water did nothing to mask his image, it allowed nothing to escape into its depths, instead reflecting everything directly back at the prince.  This time Jared did not turn away.  He looked as deeply as he could, and at first all he saw was himself.

And then he saw so much more.  It was odd, that with one blink, he saw himself at his grandfather’s knee, and with the next, he was in the caverns of Terengala, fighting for what he knew was his, but was still unwilling to expend life to realize.  He could see now how that decision had made the struggle all the more difficult, but made the final accomplishment far more precious.  A breath later, he was kneeling behind his mother on her bed, her back resting against his legs.  He was no more than four or five annums, and his thighs trembled to support her weight, but he was painstakingly combing what remained of her hair.  She liked it, he could see now, even though he had never known before, and he smiled.  It was a simple task, but it had meaning.  Magre vanished from the pool and Jared almost reached in to retrieve what he could of her.  But before he had the chance, General Beaver loomed before him, just as tall and imposing as he had been the day Jared entered the ranks of the military.  It was four days after the celebration of his grandfather’s life, Jared remembered, he was in a room full of officer-hopefuls, all of whom had reached their sixteenth ascension, all except Jared, who had only reached his tenth.

He gasped when Jensen’s image splayed across the water.  Nothing he had seen thus far, none of it, prepared him to face this.  And Jared tried to look away from the rain-soaked, barefoot boy who stood paralyzed before the haughty Heir.  He could not, though; the clear gaze held his, even as the tears masked their verdant clarity.  And Jared felt his own tears fall and further blur the image.

He slipped to the ground in the fog of his vision, and cried out as the pebbles and dried and shriveled fronds dug into his knees.  Then he dropped lower, allowing his forearms and palms to experience the same, but without the protective clothing, his hands were left vulnerable to the pain of every stone and sticker and splinter and tiny thistle.  And he felt them all keenly.  Then he climbed back up, slowly, so that he did not miss a moment of the painful journey, and he bent his body over the edge of the retaining wall to see what still awaited him.  His hair dangled forward, and his tears dripped down, mingling with the cloudy water.  And over his shoulder, Jensen stood, his hair much shorter and drier than it had been on that first day.  Jensen smiled his small, genuine smile, and he pulled the hair away from Jared’s face, even though Jared could not feel it, and he leaned forward to place a soft kiss on Jared’s temple.

“Do you need to crawl more?” a gentle voice asked.  One Jared recognized as that of the Chief Ritualist he had greeted only two days earlier.  “Do you need more blood to seep from your hands or your knees?”

Only then did Jared look down at his hands to see the trails of blood dripping into the reflecting pool.  He jerked his arms back and allowed his body to fall forward without their support, having no desire to blemish the pool now that he understood its meaning, and felt the beveled edge of the retaining wall dig into his ribs.  These bruises would be another remembrance of his Parallax, but he struggled back to the pool’s surface again.  He needed to see more.

“No,” Loretta said, “you do not.  All that you needed to see there, you have seen.  Now it is time to walk with me.”

For long minutes they walked alongside the reflecting pool in silence.  It was not until they reached the far end and turned to walk back that he decided to speak, and he wondered as he did if the Chief Ritualist would have ever spoken the first word on this walk, or if it was always up to him.  “I am ashamed of my arrogance,” he whispered.  “I could have been so much more for him.  So much kinder, gentler…”

Loretta hummed as he spoke, neither acknowledging nor dismissing his comment.  It put the prince at a disadvantage, he had no idea what to expect from this woman.  Jensen had looked happy when he stood closely behind the prince in the reflection.  Pulling Jared’s hair from his face, placing a gentle kiss upon his temple, offering support…those activities had put a smile on Jensen’s face.  Jared shook his head to rid it of the image.  It was a fantasy, nothing more.

“Was it an illusion at first?”  The Chief Ritualist asked.  “When the boy stood before you, lost and afraid, and you stared down upon him as if it was _his_ lucky day, was that an illusion?”

“No, it happened just like that.  I did that,” Jared mumbled.  It had not been a dream, it had happened just as he had seen.  He turned to the woman.  “Could you see it, too?”

Loretta smiled softly and nodded.  “If the first was real, what would make you believe that the second was not?”

“How could it be?” Jared asked.

“I have observed your mate, Jared.  He is a fine young man, who struggles to please you every day.  But he does so much more than that.  He is intelligent and has much to offer our worlds, and has mastered the language faster than history has ever seen, even with Lindsey.  It is a testament to you both.”

“Just to him,” Jared said.

“Do not discount your contribution to this match,” Loretta replied sternly.  “Without your guidance he might have languished as your grandmother did.”

“Do not say such a thing,” Jared said.  “We need him…I need him.”

The smile returned to Loretta’s face.  “We need you both.  You have made him stronger, and he has softened you, taken away some of your bluster.  And you are both better for it.”

Jared thought about that for a moment.  He supposed it was true.  He had spent the majority of his life in the military and would never have considered a simple agrician to be a friend or valuable advisor before he met his mate.  And that was but a single example of the changes his mate had cultivated and nurtured in him.  His arrogance was indeed dampened, and he was a better leader for that.  But he had another, greater concern about himself, one he had pushed down and kept hidden from those around him, even from himself whenever possible, but one he needed to confront today, on his walk, if there was any hope for the Realm.  “I have a great fear that I am not prey to my father’s manipulations because I am too much like him,” he blurted out.  It was the first time he had admitted this to anyone.

Loretta hummed again, it might have bothered him in the past, but now he recognized it as her way of allowing him time for inner reflection.  He did not want to do that now, though.  This was a theory regarding his character that plagued his thoughts whenever he was too tired or too weak to suppress it deep beneath his consciousness.  He stopped and turned purposely in her direction, staring and hoping his anxiety would spur her participation.

“Then let me ask you something that might help guide your contemplation,” she said, pausing as if it were a question.

Jared nodded his assent.

“As you sat along the edge of the reflecting pool, alone for hours with your life’s achievements and failures flickering passed your eyes, did you see Jeff?  Was he there at all?”

Jared blinked.  Hours?  He had been there at the murky water’s edge for hours?  He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relive the experience.  He had seen so much, and while some things blared out at him, there were so many more that flashed past in what had seemed mere fractions of seconds.  But in all that he had seen, hundreds, thousands of faces and events, Jeff had never been there.  He turned to her only to find her eyes stolidly meeting his.  “No.  He was never there, not in any of my reflections.”  He paused for a moment, processing the information.  “I do not have to be my father’s son.”

Loretta’s smile grew larger than before, and somehow it bolstered his growing confidence.  “I am not like him.  I never have to be like him,” he averred, suddenly secure in his decision.

“You are not like him, Jared,” the Chief Ritualist agreed.  She reached a hand up and placed it upon his chest.  “You never were.”

“I fear he wants to destroy all that is good in the Realm,” Jared said.  It seemed as if his time here was running short, and suddenly he did not want it to end.  He had too much yet to accomplish.

“Jeff is an evil man,” Loretta whispered.  She dropped her hand and continued her trek back to the mammoth gates.   Jared could see them beyond the botanical archway now.  “Some men are born that way.  Some are pushed into it.  Jeff…well, he has found his way there by both avenues, and that might be what makes him such a threat.”

Jared shivered at her words.  The Chief Ritualist spoke so softly now that he had to bend low as he walked and listened intently.

“Jeff understood the constraints of his marriage contract.  No Ritualist withheld the details from him, but when it came time to fulfill his obligations, he was enraged, and promised retribution on all of Fayar.”  Loretta stopped again, as if that made her intent more meaningful.  “Do not repeat these words.  Few know them, and even fewer believe.”

“Obligations,” Jared repeated.  “What obligations?”

“There are some truths about a man that not even a son should know,” Loretta answered.  “I think it is enough for now that I agree with you that Jeff is your enemy.”

They walked in silence for the remaining minutes it took to arrive near the gates, and then Loretta turned to him and spoke again.  She dipped low in a ceremonial bow before the Heir.  “You are the leader I expected you to be, My Lord,” she said upon rising.  “And you are the one that Fayar needs in these dark days.  I am honored to be the one to confer the rule of the Realm into your capable and compassionate hands.  Lead your people with confidence and courage, and they will follow you.  Trust in yourself and your mate, and you will make such history as not even King Julian and Lindsey did.”

There was no goodbye, no fond smile or gentle hug, the Chief Ritualist simply turned back toward the reflecting pool as the great gates opened smoothly to offer Jared egress.

“Wait,” Jared called out.  He started back toward her but with each step he took, his legs grew heavier, and his thighs quivered like they did after the most intense exertion.  His feet rose more and more sluggishly off the path, and before he made his way back to her side, his toes were dragging uselessly through the dirt and threatening to send him tumbling to the ground.  He owed it to Misha to make this effort, but now it seemed that he had no strength to see it through.  “I have a matter I…I” Even his voice trembled in his sudden exhaustion.

Loretta turned, but made no move toward him.  “You have brought me a long way from my home, young man.  And while I will not deny the necessity of it, I will not allow you to dictate the use of all my time.  I am the one person on Fayar over whom you will never have authority.  It will do you well to learn that now.”

Jared dropped his shoulders when he arrived at her side.  His Parallax was complete, and his other concerns would have to wait until he recovered from his walk and resumed his responsibilities.  It was not as heavy a burden as the one he had laid down before he passed through the palatine panels.

Her hand touched his chest again, and she patted it gently.  “The blood of the kings runs through your veins more deeply than you know, My Lord,” she said.  “You are the strongest of kings, and Pershebe has granted you the wisest and most beautiful of her sons.”

Jared walked through the gates alone, and suddenly pain accompanied the exhaustion he had already accepted.  A dull ache now throbbed throughout his body, a sensation he had not noticed before.  The pain in his hands and knees was more acute, a stinging, burning kind of hurt that sent unpredictable jolts up his arms and legs.  He saw Jensen standing a handful of steps beyond the gates, Misha holding him tightly and preventing him from rushing forward.  Why was Jensen here?  Jensen had been so busy in the medical ward that Jared never mentioned taking his Parallax today.  Still, it was good to see him here.

He heard a slithering slink, as the gates slipped shut behind him, and it seemed to be all he needed to lose his composure completely.  He dropped to one knee, and with a groan that movement created, he slid lower onto first his hip and then an elbow, trying to keep his injured hands and knees away from the unforgiving ground.  Jensen was at his side in a blink.

“How did you know I was here today?”  Jared asked his mate.

Jensen’s careful fingers wiped the sweaty, dirty hair away from his eyes and tucked it gently behind his ears.  And then he leaned over to kiss Jared fondly along the side of his face.  Jared relaxed.  He was at home in his mate’s tender care.

“I did not know when you departed on your walk, Jared,” Jensen whispered in his ear.  Others were coming close.  Jared could see Misha nearby and Major Parrack standing just behind the agrician.  He saw no sign of Commander Pileggi, no way to regain his command.  “But when you were not in our quarters when I returned last night, or when I awoke this morn, I feared for you.”  Jensen reached out to lift one of Jared’s hands to his lips and place a whisper of a kiss upon it.

Jared could see his hand clearly now, his lover’s lips drawing his gaze to it.  His palm was abraded, with long jagged gashes crisscrossing its width beneath a muddle of fresh, red droplets, and old, dried russet trails, and ground-in dirt.

_Yesterday_.  His Parallax had begun yesterday and lasted beyond the day, and now he arose from it a new man with a new appreciation.  He cupped his sore, swollen fingers around his mate’s cheek and drew him close.  And with that foreign grasp, one much more painful and clumsy than he had experienced before, he felt whole.  “I am forever yours,” Jared whispered.

____________________

“Relax,” the prime minister urged in a whisper.  “It is your place to be here.”  She and Commander Pileggi stood in the dock waiting for Commander Benedict of the Royal Guard to disembark.  The vessel’s orbit had been short, only long enough to confirm that it was indeed the RG vessel they were expecting.  And once given the okay, Benedict had landed with the agility and élan she knew to be his trademark.

This was a difficult moment for Pileggi, Samantha could see.  He stood stiffly at her side one moment, as tall and steady as the prince himself, and rounded his shoulders the next, attempting to shed the appearance of superiority.   Pileggi was no longer acting as the Heir’s herald or even his adjutant; he was standing in in the Heir’s stead, assuming executive duties upon Freyrusia, as he had been tasked to do until the prince was able to resume them.  And while no loyal Fayarian would want to look to be supplanting the ruler apparent, a man such as the commander would not want to appear as a sycophant, either.  He was walking a tightrope, hoping not to teeter too far to either side.  And Sam would do her best to offer a steadying hand.

She did just that, laying her hand on his shoulder, only to have the commander pull away.  “I am fine,” he hissed between closed teeth, still staring at the hatch.

“Forgive me,” she whispered.

Pileggi shook his head.  “No, Prime Minister, forgive me.  Perhaps I am not so fine.  But I have a role to fulfill, and I will see it through.”

“We both do,” Samantha replied.  “And while I have met with Commander Benedict many times before, this is an entirely new experience.  We are in dire times, I believe.  Perhaps we can rely on each other to see this through.”

Commander Pileggi chuffed, and then grinned.  It was a tiny grin that flickered at the corner of his lips and lasted only a moment or two, one that no one more that a handful of steps away would detect.  “Perhaps we can,” he agreed.

There was no grand ceremony as the hatch opened.  This would not be an elaborate reception prepared for an off-world official.  Benedict was a warrior, arriving with significant concerns that could only be allayed once he debarked and had the opportunity to meet with, well, whoever was in authority at the moment.  So in the absence of the Heir, it fell upon the prime minister and the Heir’s temporary designate to greet the warrior who had dedicated his life to the protection of Pershebe.  Benedict would understand the circumstance, once explained, but Samantha could not find a way to make that apparent to Pileggi.  It took one Royal Guardsman to understand another, after all.

Benedict was the first to disembark, and he strode immediately to where Samantha stood.  “Prime Minister,” he said with a bow, “we have come a long distance at great speed in search of answers, and hopefully, supplies.  Tell me you have news that will help our cause.”

Samantha stifled a grin.  Benedict had a style and fluidity that she found quite charming, but this was not the occasion for trivial pleasantries.  “I believe we do, Commander,” she said, returning his bow.  “Let me introduce Commander Pileggi of the Royal escort ship, _Fineer_.  He is temporarily in command of the Royal executive duties on Freyrusia.  Commander Pileggi, this is Rob Benedict, Royal Guardsman and Commander of one of the three vessels whose sole purpose is the protection of Pershebe.”

Benedict’s eyes widened upon the introduction, and Sam assumed his spirits rose as he greeted a commander of the Royal escort fleet that had been considered lost.  “Commander Pileggi, we had received grave news about your mission,” he said.  “Your presence here is indeed a welcome surprise.”

“Thank you, Commander Benedict.  We were unaware of the dire reports until we were able to establish contact with Premier Brown on Delthestica,” Pileggi explained.  “I am certain such news spreading throughout the Realm is creating havoc as we speak, just as it has caused such problems for you.”

“Rob, call me Rob, it is much easier,” Benedict said.  “You have been in contact with Brown?  On Delthestica?”

“Mitch,” Pileggi agreed with a nod and Samantha stared at the man.  It was the first time she had heard his given name.  “Yes, we have had contact.  In fact, he is here now.   It is all quite complicated, but there will be time later for explanations.  For now though, I can assure you the Heir is quite well, and his Chosen is not only adjusting to his new life, but has made significant contributions to our cause.  The prince will be with us soon, as I am told he has only now completed his arduous Parallax with the Chief Ritualist at his side.”

Sam could see Benedict struggling to maintain his composure as so much new information was shared with him.   All three turned in the direction of the hatch as a squad of Royal Guardsmen debarked.  Megalyn, Benedict’s second, was the first, but she broke from the group and headed toward her commander.  Ferris had met her before, but she looked different today.  She walked slower and lacked her usual flair.  Following her off the ship was a contingent of RG’s, most likely the ones who knew what supplies were required for their return voyage and how to acquire them quickly.  All were focused on the hatch leading to the spaceport, all except the last, whose focus continued to shift from Megalyn to the commander and back to the exit hatch.  Interesting, Sam thought, this was someone she would keep eyes on.  She had enough concerns without the worry of a renegade RG on Freyrusia.

“…as you can see, we are in a strategically challenging position,” Benedict said, and Ferris snapped her attention back to the man.  “As Leader Jeff has formally disbanded the Guard, and no one on Fayar has stood against him, we have no support to continue our mission.  No supplies, or funds to purchase them.  No additional warriors if the need arises.  Not even enough fuel to maintain our orbits, nor food to sustain our troops.”

Pileggi kept his head down and listened.  The four of them—Megalyn had reached them by now, and perfunctory introductions were made—started walking toward the exit hatch.  “These are serious concerns, Rob, and we will address them together.  We have breached the communication barrier of the Radon Bands, surely we can find a solution to this.”

Samantha gasped softly.  Now she could see it.  Megalyn was not clad in the usual tight-fitting tunic of the RG, but something softer and looser, and as they walked, Sam saw how the fabric clung to the swell of her abdomen.  It was something she had experienced herself, so many years ago.  She lifted her eyes and met the sparkle in Megalyn’s.  And then Meg did something Samantha would have never considered doing all those years ago when she had been in a similar position.  Megalyn winked.

____________________

Jared was not fond of the medical ward in the spaceport.  Unlike those aboard space vessels, this medical unit was large, spanning several decks and a vast network of hallways.  It was not easy to navigate, and so much sickness made Jared uncomfortable.  He had experienced too much of it in his early life.

He had gathered enough strength to resume his responsibilities within hours of completing his Parallax, but the fatigue lingered even now, two days since he had passed through those grand gates and stumbled into his lover’s arms.

It had been two daunting days, though, he acknowledged to himself, and perhaps that was part of the reason his recovery was so slow.  One stride forward seemed to be met with two in the opposite direction, and he struggled under the burden.  He wanted his mate at his side, and he yearned for the general’s advice.  Both were distant dreams for the moment, as busy as their schedules remained, and it was difficult for Jared to deal with so much at once.

He touched the wall to spark the color that would guide him to Aldis’ room.  This was not his first voyage there, but the web of pathways made it confusing and he could use the lights to guide his feet so that his mind was left unhampered.

He had spent the majority of his time over the past two days strategizing with his War Council, and at moments even their stolid support did not seem like enough.  Aldis was lucid now, and his reports were terrifying.  Even before his illness had set in, Aldis had been afraid to send messages to his father across Comm links, so he played the hapless spouse of a Royal, hoping that he could get close enough to hear plans and eventually alert his father or the Heir.

Jeff had initially mustered support, Aldis explained, among those who had lost prestige within the Realm.  Those who circumnavigated rules and had been called out for their actions.  And those who believed their value had never been realized within the Realm.  Aldis described how Jeff had summoned them to his court in Mettal, coddled them, and fostered their fears.  How he had assured them that a Realm led by his son would be a Realm that would never accept them, these outliers, these untoward thinkers, as part of the whole.  And Aldis recalled how he had sat with his ear to the door when Rick Worthy, the leader of Gerandella, reclined upon the pillows in Jeff’s private rooms, and accepted his hospitality.  Aldis was unable to hear much, he admitted, but he had heard the words, “Nechi-Mou,” and “trade routes,” and “collaborative Illearian Colonies.”

That last might have been the greatest sucker punch for the prince.  The Illearian Colonies were entirely inhabited by Fayarian settlers.  And while that settlement had been established nearly twelve generations ago, to hear that they had sided against him in the great war to come struck deeply into his heart.  Did not even the Fayarians prefer his rule to that of his Tsettellite father?

He had some time alone with his mate now that Aldis’ condition had improved.  It felt like Jensen’s presence was the only thing holding him together.  He was the only one who saw past the façade Jared wore to mask his insecurities while he worked to find a way through the problems.  Jared had expressed his concern to Jensen last evening about the colonies, and while his grasp of events was that his own had turned against him, Jensen had shown him an entirely different perspective, using Fayar’s own history to support his argument.

“It means no such thing, My Lord,” Jensen had replied.  Such formality was one of many tactics Jensen employed to garner Jared’s attention.  And it nearly always worked.  “Think of Laiguron.  If your great-grandfather had not intervened on their behalf, would their leaders not have surrendered to Gerandella to save their people?”

“Of course.  How could they not?” the prince replied, knowing his bewilderment showed on his face.

“So why would you assume it is different with the colonies?”  Jensen grinned when he saw Jared’s expression morph into one of understanding.  “You see, it is not always as you perceive.  But now it is up to you to return and offer that same protection to the Illearian Colonies; you do that, and never fear, they will return to you.”

“What would I do without you?”  Jared remembered saying that night.

He had that same small smile on his face now as he turned the corner, still following the flashing yellow lines toward his friend’s room, and bumped directly into someone coming the from the other direction.

“My pardon,” he began formally, but as his eyes focused on the Chief Ritualist, he hurried to make sure she was unharmed.  They had shared too much to require such formality now.

“I am fine,” Loretta smiled.  She put a hand against her chest and walked at his side.  “I just get so lost in these places.”

Jared chuckled.  “Something we have in common.  Where are you going, perhaps I can help?”

She bumped her shoulder into his arm somewhere near his elbow and stopped.  She looked up with a sad smile.  “You know where I am going.  I think your mate is avoiding me and postponing his Parallax.”

“I know,” Jared said.  “It is hard to find fault with him in that, though.  He was there to greet me when I completed my own.”  He paused for a moment and then his voice grew softer.  “I wish I could help him more.”

Loretta reached a hand up to his chin and lifted it.  “No one can take on another’s Journey, Jared, no matter how hard they try.  You could don his clothing today, put on his face even, walk with his friends and speak with his voice, but it will never be the same as having survived his experiences.  You know that.  But if it helps to hear, your mate is greatly comforted by your presence, I can sense it.  And that growing bond will ease his understanding as he takes his walk along the awakening road.”

They both began moving again, this time in silence.  Jared’s mind was too busy considering her words to make conversation.  As they turned the final corner, Aldis’ door standing before them, it was all the courage Jared could muster to walk through it with the Chief Ritualist at his side.  He did not want his mate to believe he was in collusion with her, but he also would not step away and allow his mate to confront her alone.

“It is time for you to walk with me, Jensen,” Loretta said kindly.  She made no introductions and looked at no one else in the room.  “Aldis is well, and now it is your time.”

Jensen nodded curtly, and rose from the chair in the corner where he spent most of his time now that Aldis had so many visitors.  He glanced at Jared and offered a small smile.  Jared had never been so proud.

____________________

Megalyn scanned the panel for entry into her temporary quarters, and waited until Christian followed her in before scanning it closed.  Neither of them had noticed the young boy following at a distance, the one who was currently scurrying to the prime minister’s office with a portable vid-screen in his hand.

She turned on Christian, pushing him up against a wall the moment the door slid closed.  “You should not be here!” she exclaimed, although her voice remained low, not more than a hiss.

Christian allowed himself to be shoved; he made no countermove.  “I could not sit on that ship waiting to hear the fate of our son.  You are already taking my mate from me, do not take my child as well.”

Megalyn stepped back.  “I would not,” she said.  “I made a promise to you.”

“But taking the decisions regarding our child’s health out of my hands, is the same,” he insisted.  “If I cannot be here to see what you see, and hear what the Curers say, then he is out of my hands.”

Megalyn sighed heavily, and then shrugged.  “Why not?  How much more trouble could we possibly be in?”

Christian grinned.  He took her hand and led her to the small bed near the single portal.  “Let me show you.”

***

Samantha studied the vids.   The boy had done well.  It was the perfect ruse, no one would suspect a child, and in using such a ploy, she had gained answers to many of her concerns.  The wary RG was not a rebel, he was a lover, and by the looks of it, a father-to-be.

She studied the short vid segments further.  The boy had taken some from in front of them both, and others from behind.  Sam had a good number to peruse.  There was something familiar about the man, something she recognized.   She pulled one face shot of the man back up on the screen and enlarged it.  Those eyes, she had seen them before.

The knock on the entrance to her personal quarters startled her, and then she remembered whom she had invited.  “Come in, Commander,” she called out.

Benedict walked through the door, and did not offer the slightest flinch as Samantha used her remote to shut and secure it behind him.  “You asked me here,” he said.  “And you requested that I bring my personal Comm.  A commander in the Royal Guard has only one way to maintain communication with his team, and it requires this Comm and a tremendous amount of power.  May I ask why you want it?”  He held the device out before him.

Sam walked across the room to meet him.  She touched his hand tentatively, and when he did not curl his fingers around the Comm to protect it, she lifted it from his palm.  “One of the RG who disembarked with you,” she began, “his eyes are very familiar to me.  I wish to address my concerns with the marshal.”  It had not been his eyes or his familiarity that she initially hoped to discuss with Marshal Roché, it had been her concern of a traitor within the Guard, but she had more information now, and this discussion would be much different than the original one she had planned.

Benedict bowed with a smile.  “Of course, Prime Minister.  The power drain will be yours to consider, a much more manageable situation here on land where resources are abundant.  Do you wish me to depart?”

“That is not necessary,” Sam said.  She looked down at the small device in her hand.  There were only three, and she was holding one.  She coughed, and then cleared her throat.  “Marshal Roché, this is Prime Minister Ferris speaking to you with the permission of your Commander Benedict.  Do we have a link?”

Roché’s face materialized before her eyes.  It was amazing how these tiny devices worked.  “Greetings, Prime Minister,” Roché said.

“You son of a bitch!” she hissed.  “Why did you send _him_ here?”

“My apologies, Samantha,” Roché replied informally, neither her question nor her vehemence seemingly taking him by surprise.  “I did not expect him to set foot on Freyrusia, in fact, I specifically forbade it.  And while I might have speculated as to the reason for your abrupt severance from the Guard, I was not certain this was the circumstance.  My intention was to protect the young man.  He made quite a stir with the Elders on Pershebe when his dearest friend became the Chosen.  He could easily have become an _Unfortunate_ in his grief, and it was not my desire to see that happen.”

Samantha gasped.  “But they accepted him.  They promised he would always have a home on Pershebe.”

Roché smiled.  “They did, but his erratic behavior following the Taking threatened the Elders, and they would have made an example of him.  As you know, it is beyond the scope of our mission to make decisions for the Elders, or to alter life on their world; it is only our mission to protect Pershebe from outside harm.  And it remains my belief now that he can learn enough from Commander Benedict to return to his people as a trusted leader.”

“His people,” Samantha mused.  She was stunned.  Overwhelmed.  The child she had dreamed about over the years, hoped the best for, but had ultimately given away, was truly not her own.  
                                                                               
“Of course, Prime Minister,” Roché said.  “The people know him, and they are all that he knows.  I trust it will remain that way.”  She nodded her agreement during his pause.  “Perhaps this time it is Fayar who gives a gift to Pershebe.” 

“Perhaps,” Sam whispered as she clicked off the Comm.  She closed her eyes and exhaled.  Her son, he was that gift.  The one given so many annums ago, and perhaps only now realized.  She turned her attention to Benedict.  “What is his name?”

Benedict smiled.  “His name is Christian.  But many amongst the Guard call him Fighter.  He is truly gifted, My Lady.”  He scooped his Comm out of her hand, and dipped his head in respect.   “Be proud.”

____________________

Jensen summoned as much courage as he could.  It was not only Aldis’ health that kept him captive in this room, if he was honest with himself.  He did not have pleasant presumptions of his walk with the Chief Ritualist, and avoidance had seemed like a reasonable alternative over the last few days.  But now she was here, and he would not waver.  He needed to prove his strength, even if it was only to himself.  So he sucked in a breath, nodded his assent, and rose to meet the Chief Ritualist at Aldis’ door.  He even managed a reassuring, albeit awkward smile for the prince.  But as the door slid shut, he buckled, allowing his weight to drop against the wall.

“You are so strong,” Loretta said.  “But you do not share your few weaknesses with anyone, and that is too much for any man.  We will talk in the gardens, someone will greet you at the gates.”  She walked away from him, allowing him time to regain his composure in privacy.

Jensen stood before the great gates.  The blue was as deep and as rich as it had been when he awaited Jared here, but now they were much more imposing, looming before him like a portent.  Beyond those gates, his future would be determined.  He would be found “pure,” or he would be condemned to a slow, agonizing death.  And he was uncertain which would be better.   He no longer sought his Path into the Great Darkness.  Now he had hopes and ambitions and desires that compelled him to maintain his current path, but he was afraid of what would be required of him in this trial.  He wanted to proclaim his purity, his desire for peace on both Fayar and Pershebe, and his acts that have benefited the Realm, but he supposed it would not work that way.

The gates opened and he walked through alone.  A giant pond spanned out before him, verdant lily pads dotted its surface, and dozens of flowers of varying colors sprouted amongst them.  He took a deep breath and smelled the water and flowers and the muggy aura of life that appreciated both light and water.  He sat at the edge and closed his eyes, picturing home.  There was nothing like this on Pershebe, not anywhere he had been or read about.  No brilliant wax-like flowers floating on the water’s surface, fighting for a place amongst the giant floating leaves.

“They do not fight,” Loretta said.

Jensen’s eyes flew open.  “What?”

“You look in the water and see them vying for space, but they are not,” Loretta explained.  “It takes the beautiful flower to anchor the leaf, and the leaf provides warmth and protection for everything beneath it.  If I pluck the flower, hoping to put it in a vase and decorate my home, the pad will die.  And if I pluck a grand bouquet, everything below, all that depends on the leaves, will suffer the same fate.”

Jensen scowled.  “I am not a flower.”

The Chief Ritualist smiled.  “No, you are so much more.”

Jensen rose to his feet.  He had no desire to look up to her the entire time they talked.  They walked away from the pond’s edge, and he held back dozens of fronds to create an easier path for the older woman.  It seemed like she could have chosen a better place to meet.

“You chose this place,” Loretta said.

Jensen looked at her quizzically.

“There is so much that I can read in your face.  And so much more that I can read from your actions,” she explained.  “I told you that someone would meet you at the gates.  I intended her to be your guide, but you did not require one.  The gates opened and you found what you needed to find, and walked straight forward to confront it.”

Jensen’s chin hit his chest, and a loud sigh escaped him.  “How…how is it done?”  He coughed, the words coming out in a half-whisper, half-sputter.

The Chief Ritualist’s eyes narrowed and her head tilted slightly to the side.  Jensen could see it from the corner of his eye.  “How is what done?  Learn to speak clearly, it is a skill that will do you well in your future.”

That he even _had_ a future was at least reassuring.  “How will you judge me?  Assess my _purity_ or whatever it can be called now.”  He turned in her direction but did not attempt to meet her eyes.  “Please tell me that whatever it entails can be accomplished with at least some privacy, I do not wish to be put on display.”  He mumbled the words close to his own chest.

“Oh Gods, baby!”  Loretta exclaimed, though her voice did not rise so much as it changed in fervor.  She grabbed his arm and ushered him back through the vegetation to the pond’s edge, taking a seat and pulling him down next to her.  “You have had my approval from more than a parsec away.  I whispered encouragement to you from my sleep, and only your purity and suitability for your position allowed you to hear my words.  You have nothing to fear from me, I am only your guide here today.  But know that you are perfect, even more so in your humility.”

Jensen remembered the words she had spoken to him when he first held the medallion in his hand, and he reached down unconsciously to trace the shape of it in his pocket.

Loretta placed her hand over his, and this time he did look up.  Her eyes shone with moisture, but the smile she offered him suggested happiness.  “You were right to leave it where it is,” she said.  “I know it is hard, but it belongs there for as long as you can manage.”

“And then?” Jensen asked.

She lifted her hand from his and got up to start walking again.  Jensen scrambled to join her.  “Then you will know it is time,” she said.  “It is the symbol of a bond you are creating, Jensen.  And until you have committed yourself fully to that bond, you will not be able to attach the medallion to your chain.”

Jensen reached up instinctively.  “Then why warn me those weeks ago?  Why not allow me to make the attempt and fail?”

Loretta grinned at him.  “Who said you would have failed?  But committing to your bond, and consciously accepting that fact are two different things, and I would not have wanted you to question your decision.”

They walked in silence around the pond’s edge.  It was cool here, and the sun shined overhead.  Jensen could smell the plant-life around him.  He looked up toward the clear sky and wondered aloud, “Do all the planets and stars have names, or is it only so common on the other side?”

“Other side?” the Chief Ritualist asked.

“Of the Bands,” Jensen clarified.  “I have seen the general’s maps and learned his lessons.  Everything there has a name.  It does not seem so clear out here.”

“Not every planet, even on the Fayarian side of the Bands, has a name.  And most of those names were chosen at random by someone who discovered the planet and pinned a label on a map.  Some names are special, though.”

Jensen considered her words for a moment, and when he turned his attention back to the woman whom he had feared so recently, he saw that her focus seemed to be elsewhere as well, even as her eyes held his.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.  “Something between just you and I until the Heir becomes King and learns all that I know.”

Jensen nodded hesitantly.  Holding a secret was not an issue for him, he was not one to tell tales.  His only concern was that if this secret put anyone at risk, threatened the safety of the Realm or Pershebe, he was not certain that he could withhold it from Jared.

“Are you sure?” she pushed.  “You cannot share this for now, it is just between us.”

Jensen stared at the mystical woman as his mind pondered the question.  She had made a great sacrifice to travel so far, and her advice aboard the premier’s ship had probably saved Aldis’ life.  He wanted desperately to trust her.  And if this were a great secret, was she not doing the same?  Was she not offering him her trust as well?  He mustered the strength to respond.  “I am sure.”

The Chief Ritualist leaned in close to reveal her secret, and Jensen bent his head to meet hers.  “She chose Fayar,” Loretta whispered.

Jensen drew back, not realizing until he did so, how far down he had bent to hear her words.  “Who chose Fayar?”

The Chief Ritualist giggled.  It was a sound Jensen had not imagined in all his dreams and nightmares of this person.  She slapped his shoulder softly.  “Pershebe, silly boy!  Of all the warships that courted her, it was Fayar that she chose.  We were not called Fayar at the time.  It was a request she made when she found us satisfactory.”

Jensen looked at her like she had seen far too many tides on this side of the Great Darkness.

Loretta eyed him seriously, despite the fit of laughter she had just stifled.  “You do not understand, do you?”

Jensen shook his head.

“Pershebe loved Fayar on first sight.  She let us land and gave the best she had to offer to prove her devotion.  And all that she asked of us is that we protect her children and accept the name she chose for us.”

“And you have protected Pershebe for more than a thousand generations,” Jensen summarized.  “What were you called before?”

“Not even I know the name,” she scowled in wonder.  “It was lost to history.  All that is written is that before we earned her honor, we had become a wasteland.  All the natural beauty of our world had been stripped away in our lust for power and glory, and were known only for the soil our feet trod upon.”  She shook her head and closed her eyes as if to remove the memory.  “Pershebe brought beauty back to Fayar.  Now it is time to ensure that we do not let her down.”

They were walking again, and Jensen appreciated the distraction even if he did not like the silence.  It made him think, turn his ponderings to her words and his concerns.  And he was not certain he wanted to face them at all.

“How can I care so much for someone who did not even know what to call me?” he admitted.

“If you did not share your name, how could you expect the Heir to know it?” Loretta posed.  “Surely you did not believe him to be a mind reader?”

Jensen shook his head in frustration.  “You misunderstand me, he did not know what to call _any_ of my people.  We were of such little significance to him that he did not bother to learn that we are ‘Pershebian’ and not ‘Pershebiite.’  How can such an indifference foster love?”

“I think you expect more of him than he is capable of,” Loretta offered gently.  “He could not know more about your home world than was shared with him.   So why would you hold him accountable for such information?”

“Why would he not know?”

Loretta smiled indulgently, reaching out to hold his hand.  “Because a lack of knowledge is a challenge in itself.  I would not have wanted him to set out upon his journey knowing exactly how it would end.  There is more to the journey than just the ending, baby.  Surely you have realized that by now.”

Jensen studied her.  His journey had not been easy so far, and he was trying his hardest to make it better.

“Trust me, Jensen, it is love that binds Pershebe and Fayar,” Loretta whispered.  “She gives all of herself, the best of herself to her lover.  And in return, Fayar will never let her down.  But that does not mean that the ways cannot be changed.”

“It has been difficult,” Jensen conceded.  “I am not the fighter my friend is, or a leader like the Heir.  And I struggle to find my value.”

Loretta hummed.  Her pace slowed and Jensen considered whether he would lag back to keep in step with her, or surge forward and be finished with his walk.  He decided to slow his stride.

“Bravery, worth,” she began, “are not only displayed on a field of battle or in a War Room.  You have brought much of yourself to Fayar, and offered it freely.  Trust in the path Pershebe set you upon so many years ago.  You have been chosen, Jensen.  And it was not only the Heir that made that choice.

“You are more than I begged the Gods for.  Pershebe has loved Fayar since she first saw us, and in our time of need, she has sent our greatest leader her finest son.  And Fayar gave you a gift in return.”

Jensen tilted his head.  What had he received, he wondered.

“Even with all of his faults, because none of us are without them, Misha is pure and honest in his intentions.  The Ritualists would have offered him a place amongst them if his importance had not been so great.  He is a good friend to you, and that is what Pershebe asked Fayar to grant each of her own so far from home.   And Fayar has never let her down.”

Jensen looked up, and saw the giant blue portal right before him.  “We are at the gates,” he said.  He was happy to be back, he thought, but he was uncertain that his Parallax was complete.

“You love the prince,” Loretta said.  “Do not discount the power of such.  It makes you both stronger.  It is the tie that binds you together and that which will bring victory and ultimately peace to our worlds.”

“There are still times I would like to pluck the flower from its root and let the pad wither away,” Jensen admitted.

“Hmm,” Loretta mused, “but then the flower would shrivel and die as well.  Now it is time to return to your root.”

Jensen felt the heat rise to his face, but he did not look back as he made his way through the gates.

“Prepare for a brother,” Loretta called out as he exited.  “He will be here soon, and his burden is nearly as great as your own.”

***

Jensen took the shortest route that he knew to their quarters.  He was unnerved, and yet satisfied at the same time.  It was a perplexing dichotomy, and he did not want to walk the streets or corridors while he considered it.

Jared was at his desk in the far corner of the room when Jensen entered.  He rose instantly, and watched Jensen’s movements cautiously from the distance.  Jensen took a handful of minutes to study the Heir with blatant curiosity.  Was the Chief Ritualist right?  Did he love this man?  And was it as much his choice to be taken, albeit subconsciously, as it was the prince’s to choose him?

The Heir set his stylus on the small table, and even that tiny distraction grabbed Jensen’s attention.  He followed the slow, hesitant movement, and then allowed his eyes to track upward, along the long, muscled arm to a shoulder and then a neck.  Jensen licked his lips.  He sucked in a deep breath as Jared swallowed heavily in nervous anticipation.

Finally, he looked up into the eyes that had stared down upon him in their first meeting.  There was emotion there, perhaps it had been there all along, but Jensen could see it so clearly now.  He walked across the room and buried himself in his mate’s arms.  “She was right,” he whispered into the familiar warmth.

___________________

Christian walked tall and proud as he escorted Megalyn to an eatery she had told him about but that he, in his attempt to remain undiscovered, had not been able to visit until now.  The reason he was no longer required to hide his presence on the planet remained unclear to him, but as long as he was free to travel throughout the spaceport and the amazing city beyond its doors, he was going to take advantage of it, and enjoy showing off his mate as he did so. 

His mind was light now, with the news that all was well with their son.  And the babe was indeed a boy, confirmed now by the Curers even if he had never doubted Megalyn’s declaration.  She was tall and lithe, the “expert” had explained, and she hid their child in the length of her abdomen and behind her strong muscles.  Their son was healthy, vigorous in his movements if what Christian had seen on the screen was true, and would emerge onto his Path sometime late in their journey back to Pershebe.   Privately, Christian hoped it would be as soon as safely possible, so that Megalyn had a chance to know him and make the choice to join them on Pershebe, but he did not hold his hope.  It was a decision that was out of his hands, and he would not try to influence her further.  He had a healthy son, and he was overjoyed.

The long corridor opened into a spacious gathering area, one far larger than he had seen before.  Tables dotted the room, and while few of them were occupied, the ones that were showed groups of people at leisure, some eating and others simply enjoying the company, so he assumed this to be their destination.

“Find a table, Fighter, I will get our food,” Megalyn said, confirming his theory.

Christian scanned the room.  There were tall, wide portals overlooking the magnificent city on one side, and he would have chosen a table there had they not all been in use.  It seemed he was not the only one who wanted to appreciate the view.  So he assessed the rest of the room.  The tables were occupied in a haphazard fashion, a table of two in one spot with no other occupied tables surrounding it, or a table of four in another area, also on its own.  But in the distant corner, near the other entrance to the eatery, there was a group of tables all occupied, and the laughter from the table in its midst drew his attention.  He walked slowly forward, not wanting to garner attention.  He just wanted to see what kind of life sparked such enthusiasm.

There in the middle, he found a familiar face, but there was something different about it…

“You will never understand it, my prince,” Nemec laughed.  He bounced that dreadful Tential ball and it hit the bench beneath him then the ground, then the table between them where it took off in a trajectory Jensen had not anticipated and hit the wall beside them and returned after one more bounce to its master’s hand.  “Only the player who understands it can manipulate it.”

“I can understand it,” Jensen protested.  “Show me.”

Nemec held the ball in his outstretched hand, but when Jensen reached for it, the flick of Nemec’s wrist sent it on another wild path.  Jensen grinned, mostly because everyone around them was laughing, even his Guardsmen.  It was not often that his stoic entourage found entertainment this easily.  So Jensen enjoyed it as well, even if it was at his expense.

“Come on,” Jensen goaded.   He had no love for those annoying balls, but as long as it was entertaining, he would comply.  “Let me try.”

Nemec rubbed it between his hands, and then patted it like a wayward child.  “Be good,” he whispered exaggeratedly to the sphere before carefully placing it in Jensen’s palm.

“Okay.”  He nodded to Jensen.  “Start out slow, drop it on the ground and catch it.  Do not throw it, just let it fall and return to you.”

Jensen looked quizzically toward Misha.  He wanted everyone to have fun, but he did not want to be the butt of a crude joke.  Misha gave a slight nod of his head, and Jensen followed Nemec’s instructions precisely.  The ball slipped from his hand and bounced on the ground, returning to him slightly warmer than it had been before.  Curious, Jensen thought, and he dropped it again, with a little force this time.

“No!”  Nemec warned too late.  The Tential ball hit the ground with far more force than Jensen thought he used, and then bounced up and hit him under the chin.  It repeated the same steps three times in such quick succession that Jensen could do nothing to avoid it until Nemec reached over and batted it away, and everyone was again laughing.

“Jensen!”  A voice called from the edge of the group, and the sound startled him.  He tried to look for its source, but his Guardsmen had risen in response, and Jensen found himself pushed close to the wall with both Nemec and Misha standing before him.  It was frustrating as always.  He wanted to stand with the rest of them, fight if need be, but he was continually pushed behind a human wall.

Whoever it was who called out to him was pushing his way steadily through the gathered crowd, Jensen could tell by the moans and grunts and “oofs.”  He wondered what would happen when the man confronted his Guardsmen.  It was not a scenario he wanted to see play out.

“Stop!” Misha called out.  The suddenness and seriousness of his timbre brought the melee to a standstill.  And it made Jensen’s ears ring in the proximity.

When everyone was silent, including the intruder, Misha continued, “I sense that this man is special to the Chosen.”  With his words, the crowd parted to allow a visual link between Jensen and the man who had called to him.  “Is he not, My Lord?”

Jensen’s eyes followed that newly created path to where his loyal Guardsmen surrounded the man.  His attire was that of a Royal Guardsman, and his hair was disheveled, falling forward and hiding his face.  But when the man lifted his head, shaking the hair away from his face, and stared directly at him, Jensen knew instantly who it was.  “Christian,” he murmured in wonder.

The Guardsmen stood aside immediately and Chris ran straight for his friend.  He grabbed Jensen in a tight hug and whispered in his ear, “I was so afraid for you, Jensen.  I thought I had lost you forever.”

Jensen tightened his arms around the man he once thought might become his mate, but now embraced as a brother.  He nodded into Christian’s shoulder, but he could not muster any words.  He blinked away tears, and saw a beautiful, bronze woman over Christian’s shoulder.  She stood a few feet away from the crowd and grinned like she knew him.  Jensen closed his eyes to the sight and found enough of his voice to whisper in return.  “Gods Christian, I have missed you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Parallax journeys took me forever to develop, I hope to get this Journey back on track! I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for the support. <3
> 
> And so much thanks to the ever patient [arliss](http://arliss.livejournal.com) for her fabulous beta and never-ending encouragement!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for the lovely comments and the encouragement! I need it to swim through RL, I really do! :) I had intended on getting much farther before I posted, but I decided this was a good spot to stop and reevealuate all that is important in this strange universe.

“Sit down, Jensen,” Misha whispered.  He nudged Jensen’s shoulder to get his attention, and then walked away without offering another word.  
  
Jensen pulled from Christian’s embrace and glanced toward the table where he had been sitting minutes earlier.  It, and all the tables surrounding it, were vacant.  Even his Guardsmen had taken extra steps away, offering a level of privacy that he took a quick moment to appreciate.  Normally, he might object to such special consideration, but now he wanted to spend time alone with his oldest friend.  Time reevaluating their bond now that he had become a man and could look upon Christian with all the understanding of an equal.  Jensen wanted to see Christian now that he knew him not as a classmate or protector or potential lover, but as the devoted brother Christian had proven himself to be time and time again.  So Jensen sank down onto one bench, and gently encouraged Christian into the seat across from him, where Jensen could see him best and learn more from this new awareness.  
  
Christian plopped onto the proffered seat and settled his elbows upon the table between them.  For several minutes he simply stared at his friend.  “Your hair is short,” he finally grumbled.  
  
Jensen chuckled.  “It is longer than it was a handful of  _septamas_  ago…wait!” he gasped.  “You are speaking Fayarian!”  
  
“As are you.  But mine is better.”  Christian winked.  
  
Jensen laughed, it was so nice to have his friend, his brother, so near.  “I am not so sure, fighter!”  
  
There was movement from his left, and Jensen glanced toward his Guardsmen, offering an infinitesimal shake of his head.  
  
“What?” Christian asked, turning his head to follow Jensen’s line of site.  “What is it?”  
  
“Nothing,” Jensen said.  “I have Guardsmen now, and a word here or there triggers their attention.  Guardsmen…me?”  He chuckled modestly.  “Who would have thought it, right?”  
  
“I would have,” Christian answered honestly.  “You have always been important.”  
  
“Stop,” Jensen scowled.  “I have heard enough of that already, it is not what I want to hear from you.”  
  
“Ah, now you want to dictate my words,” Christian grinned.  “I would have thought you had enough of that without seeking it from me.”  
  
“No,” Jensen rushed to reply.  “I only meant—”  
  
“Ha!”  Christian’s guffaw, or perhaps the hand he slapped down on the tabletop separating them, stopped Jensen on a breath.  “I might be the only one on this planet that does not give a damn what you mean!”  
  
Jensen glared, and Christian succumbed to laughter.  “I am not a boy anymore,” Jensen whispered across the table.  “Why do you still tease me as if I were?”  
  
Christian leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.  There was no backrest on the bench, so the gesture seemed more like an attempt at perusal than a withdrawal from the conversation, and the tilt of his head and speculative frown confirmed as much.  Chris tapped a finger several times against his pursed lips before speaking, this time in Pershebian.  “No, I suppose you are no longer a boy, whether or not it was your desire to veer from that path as young as you were.  But I tease you still because it is my place to keep you humble in your otherwise exalted status.  You, with your  _Guardsmen_  and your  _devotees_.”  He gestured effusively in all directions to emphasize his point, and then returned his attention to Jensen with a sly grin turning up the corners of his mouth.  “Who else here will tell you that your hair looks absurd at that length?”  
  
Jensen laughed, and it felt good. He switched easily to his native language as well. “My hair might seem short, but your sleeves are ridiculously tight, and the way that tunic squeezes your chest?  It is an affront to the eye!”  
  
“What?” Christian gasped in feigned insult.  He splayed a hand across his chest for emphasis.  “How could you denigrate the uniform of the Royal Guard so?”  Even as he spoke, the way his fingers crept upward to wrestle the fabric away from his neckline belied his conviction.  
  
Jensen laughed so hard he wheezed, and  _Fighter_  took a step toward him.  “I am well,” Jensen huffed between breaths, waving the Guardsman away.  
  
Christian sobered first.  He leaned across the table and whispered his words like they were a secret.  “They are serious about your protection.”   
  
Jensen nodded as he tried to compose himself.  He wanted to revel in the levity of Christian’s wit, but he desired the confidence of his dear friend as well.  It was not often that Chris abandoned his humor and offered anyone such easy admission, and Jensen yearned for the opportunity to share a part of his new life with his friend.  He did not know if it was in an attempt to gain Christian’s approval or to understand this new culture which had sucked him in and demanded his acceptance.  He shoved that query to the back of his mind for further contemplation later.  Now, though, he just wanted to share his thoughts with the one person from his world he thought still cared for him, so he leaned toward Christian and whispered in the same tone, “I named him after you.”  He let his eyes flicker toward the strong, courageous Guardsman who had knelt down and proffered his lifelong loyalty, before returning his attention to Christian.  
  
Chris followed Jensen’s line of sight.  The tall, dark man was dressed in the crimson and silver garb Christian had learned to associate with Fayarian military.  He let out a deep breath and his eyes bulged for a moment before he could contain his incredulity.  “You…you get to name them?” he finally managed in a sputter.  
  
“Shh!” Jensen reached across the table to cover Christian’s mouth with his hand, not worrying, or at least not worrying too much, about how much damage his rash action was incurring.  “No, of course not!” he continued in a hushed voice.  “It was before I knew them, in my early, dark days upon the Royal vessel.  I spent much of my time observing, and thinking of home, and of all that I believed I had lost.  His actions reminded me of you.”  
  
“So you named him Christian, and he does not mind?” Christian clarified, disbelief still apparent in his tone.  
  
Jensen started laughing again; it felt so easy and free.  “No…it was  _Fighter_.  I named him  _Fighter_ , at least in my mind that is how I think of him.  And while I do not actually call him that, I know that he has heard the term at least once and seemed proud of it.”  
  
Christian sat up straight; he drew his shoulders back and shook his head to rid his face of his hair.  “As he should be,” he proclaimed.  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments more before Christian reached across the table to touch Jensen’s hand.  “I have someone now, and she calls me fighter as well,” he confessed.  He attempted a casual smirk, but the gesture was overwhelmed by the raw, melancholic emotion in his eyes.  “She is all that I could ask for, and she is my one.”  
  
Jensen frowned.  He stared into Christian’s face, trying to reconcile the desperate gloom he saw there with the elation he expected to find after such a declaration.  “That is good news, right?” he ventured.  
  
“It is…and it is not,” Christian equivocated.  “I mean, it is—”  
  
“Stop,” Jensen said.  He felt a calm like he had not in some time.  He could be here for his suffering friend.  Perhaps it was his turn to take care of Christian, just as in the past, Christian had always taken care of him.  He put his free hand on top of the one Chris had used to cover his other.  “Tell me,” he whispered.  “I hope you know that you can tell me anything.”  
  
Christian’s head dropped, and he let out a bellyful of air.  “She is standing a few feet behind me…No!  Do not look!  She is called Megalyn, and she is the second in command of the Royal Guard vessel that brought me here to you.”  
  
“Gods, Christian!” Jensen swore softly, careful not to look over Christian’s shoulder.  “She is a fighter like you, you should be proud.”  
  
A wry smile twisted Christian’s lips, and Jensen drew back.  There was so much despair in Christian’s expression, along with a sort of hesitance that his strong, courageous friend had never before displayed.   
  
“I  _am_  proud, please understand that.  But your knowledge of the Guard is limited, am I right?”  Christian asked.  
  
“It is, but I have studied them much of late.  I have learned quite a bit,” Jensen answered, hoping his newly gained knowledge might prove useful to his oldest friend.  
  
Christian smiled at that.  “You always were good with the books, too bad your good habit did not rub off on me.  My knowledge was woefully lacking when I unwittingly embarked on my new path, but now I must face the truth of it.  I am bound to a woman who will bear my child a few months hence and then depart from my life forever.”  
  
“Gods, Christian!” Jensen surged across the table and wrapped his arms around his dear friend again.  He closed his eyes.  Christian was his brother, the one the Chief Ritualist told him to anticipate.  Even if they had not been so close on Pershebe, they would have been here—two Pershebians amongst the tide of other-worlders.  But this was Christian, the man who, in his childhood, had stood between Jensen and countless threats.  Jensen pulled him closer.  Now it was his turn to protect his friend, even if all he had to offer was emotional support.  
  
“I do not regret it!” Christian exclaimed, likely louder than he had intended by the turn of heads in their direction.  
  
Jensen ducked his head and slid back into his seat.  “I am sorry.  It was not my intention to rile you.  I know life has become much more complicated…for us both, no doubt.”  
  
Christian let out an exhausted breath.  “Gods, Jensen!” he swore, reaching a hand across the table to cover Jensen’s again before continuing in a softer tone.  “In my personal predicament, I forgot for a moment just what a taxing path you have endured.  Forgive me.”  
  
Jensen closed his eyes.  He had wanted to console his friend; be there for his brother now that they were together in this unfamiliar place, but the feel of Christian’s hand and the sound of his words reminded him of home and all that he had left behind.  “Th-they must hate me,” he whispered.  
  
“Who?”  Christian looked around so sharply that his neck wrenched, and he reached up to massage the spasm.  “I do not see hatred here, I see admiration, devotion, love even.”  
  
“No, not here.  My parents,” Jensen admitted.  “They must think me such a failure.”  
  
“No,” Christian insisted.  He swallowed hard enough that Jensen could hear it.  
  
“You are lying to me,” Jensen said.  His voice lowered, and his shoulders slumped.  He pulled his hand out from beneath Christian’s.  “I can hear it in your voice.  I would like to hear truth from you, my oldest friend.  Is that too much to ask?”  
  
Christian stared at his empty hand for a long minute.  And then he closed his eyes and shook his head negligibly from side to side.  “Will you put your hands back on the table?” he asked.  
  
Jensen placed his right hand back on the cool surface.  
  
“Both,” Christian insisted.  
  
Jensen huffed and grudgingly lifted his left to lay palm down next to the other.  His gaze remained focused on his splayed fingers.  He was uncertain what would come next, and he was even less secure in his desire to hear it.  
  
Christian covered both hands with his own.  He did not grasp them or pull them close, he simply offered his touch.  “Your father is an Elder now.”  He leaned across the table so that his whispered words would not linger beyond them.  
  
“I know,” Jensen said.  “The prince explained that to me.  He told me as well that my father would greet me ‘familiarly,’ but not as a Pershebian.”  
  
Christian sucked in a breath.  “Your father misses you, Jensen.  He tried to protect me when I lost my way.  And when we both understood that I would be leaving Pershebe, he made me promise to find a way to get word to him if you still lived.  Even as he hoped for your survival, he still feared for you, Jensen.  But in all our conversations, every one, he always called you son.”  
  
Jensen felt a small smile lift his lips.  He accepted the comfort his friend’s words and hands offered.  “That…that is good to hear.  And my mother?”

___________________

  
Jared strode toward the largest eatery in the spaceport, he knew it was where Jensen preferred to dine at midday when he had no other obligations, and Jared hoped to find him there.  These new developments were of enough import to call for an unscheduled War Council meeting, and to pull his mate from his more pleasant distractions.  
  
The corridors were wider here than upon the space vessel, but just as dull and unappealing.  Jared turned another corner.  
  
The orbiting Suraanese vessel was an unexpected complication, Jared thought, but not an unpleasant one.  According to logs kept by the dock chiefs, it had been more than a year since a trade vessel from Suraan had orbited Freyrusia.  And even those last adventurous few had brought more troubling news to Freyrusia than cargo from their home planet.  Jared was anxious to hear how Suraan was faring under the constant barrage of the Nechi-Mou marauders.  He wanted his mate at his side when he dealt with the issue, so he turned along another corridor, hoping to find Jensen convivial and ready to address this newest concern.  
  
He entered the large eatery and glanced around curiously.  Almost everyone in the room was gathered in the distant corner, the one closest to the far entrance, but they hovered in an awkward circle some distance from the table they surrounded.  Jared let his eyes linger there for a moment.  Through the gathered crowd, he caught tiny glimpses of his mate sitting across from another man.   
  
He stood staring for a few minutes to make some sense of the scene before him.  At one moment, through a narrow slice of space between the onlookers, he could see both men laughing, and the next time a space opened for him to peer through, the two men were leaning in close, touching hands and whispering.  It was oddly intimate but not in a way that caused a flare of jealousy or possessiveness on the prince’s part, more in a comforting, familiar manner.  
  
Jared rushed closer when again the crowd parted slightly, and he saw Jensen cover his face with both hands.  It was easy to move through the onlookers once they realized that it was the Heir pushing forward, and he was standing behind his mate, laying his hands gently on his shoulders a moment later.  “What is it, Jensen?  What is wrong?” he asked softly.  
  
Jensen looked up suddenly, his eyes widened in startled bewilderment.  “It is my mother.  She has set out upon her Path into the Great Darkness, Jared.”  
  
Jared wiped a tear from his mate’s cheek.  He wanted to pull his mate into a reassuring hug, but before he could move to do so, his shoulder was shoved back hard and he heard a menacing growl close to his ear.  
  
“Jared!” the voice rasped.  “I have prepared for a long time to meet you.”  
  
The prince felt another shove, and he stepped back to get a look at his attacker.  The crowd pulled back, and as he had given no indication of requiring assistance, none was yet offered.  He was a military man, first and foremost, and his men understood that.  It took him mere seconds to scan and assess the throng.  The group was an odd mix of Royal Guard and Fayarian Military.  Jensen’s Guardsmen stood tense and ready a handful of steps from him.  
  
“Christian!  Stop!” Jensen yelled, regaining his composure and rising to his feet.  
  
So this was Jensen’s life-long friend and protector, Jared surmised.  And judging by the look on his face and the viciousness of his words, he did not think highly of the prince.  
  
The two men circled each other within the widening ring of onlookers.  It seemed that many more were entering the eatery to discover the source of the commotion.  “Do I know you?” the prince asked, knowing the answer but using this time to evaluate his predicament.  He looked out of the corner of his eye to see  _Fighter_  restraining Jensen in a rare display of physical intercession.  
  
“I need not know you to despise you,” Christian seethed.  
  
“Christian…stop,” Jensen repeated plaintively.  
  
“It seems that I make enemies before I meet them more and more these days,” Jared said.  “What is it that I have done to earn the animosity of a Royal Guardsman?”  
  
“I have not taken the oath, so you need not worry that the ranks of your Guard have been tarnished,” Christian said, lunging a single foot forward and immediately pulling it back to gauge the prince’s response.  He returned to his circling behavior again.  “I am a Pershebian Fighter, and you have stolen one of my own.  Stolen and sullied, and it is my duty to reclaim that honor.”  
  
Jared glanced toward Jensen whose face had fallen to his chest upon hearing the words.   _Stolen and sullied,_  the man had said.  Is that how Jensen still felt?  
  
“And it is your belief that calling me out to battle will restore the honor you consider lost?” Jared asked.  His head tilted slightly as he continued his defensive maneuvers and considered his own question and the possible responses Christian might offer.  
  
“It is my belief that once I have  _pummeled_  you, his honor will indeed be restored,” Christian clarified.  
  
Jared sighed, again glancing to the downturned face of his mate.  He dropped his hands to his sides and stopped circling.  He nodded resolutely.  “Okay, then.”  
  
Christian exploded toward him, crashing shoulder first into Jared’s chest, knocking him backward and to the ground.  Jared rolled over and sprang to his feet before his opponent could get a knee in his gut.  He stood still and waited for Christian to turn and attack him again.  
  
He did not have long to wait.  Christian barreled toward him again, this time stopping short before making bodily contact, and striking out with half a dozen quick jabs instead.  Jared tried to  _not_  block the blows, but instinct took over and had him dodging punches and raising forearms to shield vital organs.  Still, he offered no strikes of his own to counter the barrage.  
  
“Jared, what are you doing?” Jensen called out, but the prince was too busy fending off the attack to look in Jensen’s direction.  “Come on, Jared!  Fight back!”  
  
Jared smiled when he heard the words despite the two consecutive punches that Christian had just landed successfully, one to his flank and the other to his chin.  He stumbled two steps back and tasted blood.  
  
“ _Fight! Fight! Fight!_ ” Jared heard the crowd’s growing, grumbling hum.  It felt like the early days of military training, when one boy had the overwhelming need to prove himself and the other cadets had the irresistible desire to egg him on.  
  
“ _Jared!_ ” Jensen’s voice was both distressed and resigned.  The prince did not like the sound of it.  
  
Christian swept a leg around Jared’s ankle while shoving into him with his shoulder once again, and before Jared could instinctively counter the move, he crashed to the floor.  This time Christian followed him down, straddling his torso, growling and throwing fists nonstop now that Jared was doing nothing whatsoever to protect himself.  It was not as hard as Jared thought it would be, to just stop and let the blows fall.  
  
“Cease!”  _Elder_  called out in his booming baritone, and the crowd silenced on a breath.  Christian’s blows stopped falling, but not of his own accord:  two RGs flanked him, and another stepped in behind, and together they pulled him off Jared.  He continued flailing in their arms.  
  
“That is enough,” the female officer securing Christian’s left flank said to him.  “Look at your friend, Fighter.  He has made his choice.  You can no longer brawl with the prince despite his acceptance of the fight now that your friend has made his decision.  The fate of the Chosen will be the same as that of the Heir, and no Royal Guardsman here will stand aside and allow that.”  
  
Jared lifted his head at an awkward angle that made his head throb incessantly.  He scanned the crowd through swollen, slitted eyes until they settled upon his mate.  Sure enough, the medallion hung from the chain about Jensen’s neck, a gleaming beacon drawing Jared’s gaze.  And his heart.  He tried to get up, to rise to his feet and run to his chosen mate, the man who, despite the agony of their first meeting and all the trials and setbacks thus far along their Journey, had now chosen Jared as well.  He had only managed to scramble onto his elbows, his torso bare inches off the ground, when Jensen dropped to his knees at Jared’s side.  
  
“Jared, are you okay?” Jensen whispered.  He traced a tentative path with his finger along Jared’s tender jawline and the split in his lip as his other hand smoothed down Jared’s arm and across his torso in search of less visible damage.  “Gods, Jared!  What were you thinking?”  
  
“I was thinking I deserved it,” Jared hissed through his swelling lips.  He tried to smile but it was horribly mangled, more like a leer than the elated grin he intended.  “And instead, I got you, for all of my journeys.  Are you certain, Jensen?  Tell me this was not just your way to break up the fight.”  
  
Jensen assisted him slowly to his feet, and they took a few cautious steps toward their quarters.  He shook his head.  “I closed my eyes for a moment back there.”  Jensen tilted his head toward where the fight had been.  “And I finally saw my Path.  It was not into the Great Darkness, Jared.  It was at your side.”  
  
Jared wrapped an arm around his mate, the man that would be with him through all of his Journeys.  “Gods, I do not deserve you!”  
  
Jensen lifted a finger to the medallion hanging above his heart.  It was not nearly as heavy as it had felt in all those weeks in his pocket.  He smiled shyly and nudged Jared toward the left as they entered the corridor.  “No, probably not.”

____________________

  
“I initiate this session of the War Council,” Pileggi announced.  Commander Rhodes was in the room with him, as were Prime Minister Ferris, Premier Brown, and Commander Benedict.  General Beaver appeared on the screen before them for now, but he would soon be boarding a shuttle headed for the planet’s surface.  So much was happening on Freyrusia now, and the general’s leadership would be a boon in the midst of the turmoil.  
  
“The Heir is unavailable,” Rhodes stated for the official record.  All gathered here knew of the afternoon’s events.  “He is ensconced in his chambers, strengthening his bond.”  
  
All heads nodded their agreement, but it was the general who spoke.  “Much is happening upon Freyrusia and throughout the Fayarian Realm, perhaps even far beyond.  It is necessary that we discuss these concerns, and I will meet personally with the prince upon my arrival to share our thoughts with him.”  
  
“Agreed,” offered Pileggi, and with that everyone began speaking at once.  
  
“The traitor has been—”  
  
“There has never been an acceptance—”  
  
“The Suraanese tradeship—”  
  
“What Royal Guardsman dared to challenge—”  
  
“Cease!” Beaver bellowed.  “There will be order here, or there will be no council meeting at all.”  
  
Pileggi quickly followed his lead.  There was a reason Beaver had risen to the rank of general at a young age, and the commander would not contradict his orders.  “Log in by Comm to voice your concerns, and we will address those issues which are of such dire import that they must be addressed before the Heir leaves his sequestration.”  
  
Twelve  _dings_  chimed in before his last words were uttered.  There were only five members of the War Council present.  This would be a long afternoon.

_____________________

  
By the time they reached their quarters, Jared was a heavy weight against Jensen’s side.  He still moved on his own, but obviously favored his left flank.  “Lie down,” Jensen encouraged, nodding toward the bed. “I will attend you there.”  
  
“Yes, Jensen…attend me,” Jared drawled.  
  
“Care for your injuries,” Jensen amended.  
  
“Tend my injuries later, tend my heart now,” Jared replied.  He sprawled across the bed and held up his hands to encourage his mate.  “Come Jensen, show me that your heart is truly mine.”  
  
Jensen turned to study his mate in repose, and again allowed his fingers to reach up and trace the medallion.  It was true, his heart was Jared’s; he had come to that conclusion following his Parallax.  To admit it openly, though, both in public and now here, in private, was an entirely new and terrifying feat for him.  It had been his choice, and he had made it freely.  In a sense, an odd, ironic sort of sense, the choice itself set him free.  
  
With that thought buoying him, and a deep breath, Jensen abandoned his path to the bath and moved to sit at Jared’s side.  He ran his fingers across Jared’s lips again, drawing them back sharply when a zing hit his fingers like the jolt of a static charge, but instead of burning out after the initial spark, it ran the length of his arm and throughout his body in a prickling, aching heat, settling into a restless hum low in his belly.  He had felt it before, briefly, when Jared’s bracelet touched the chain about Jensen’s neck.  But those electrifying bursts of passion and need had been fleeting, nothing like the building ache of desire he felt now.  
  
“No, no.  Do not pull away.  You will get used to it,” Jared insisted, caressing the arm Jensen used to support his weight.  He licked his lip, following the path Jensen had taken, and hissed as it raked across the swelling split.  “You are mine, my chosen, as you have been since I first saw you.  Touch me now that I am yours as well.”  
  
Jensen reached a shaky hand forward again.  This time he settled his touch on Jared’s muscled arm, one place he thought likely free of the abuse that much of the rest of Jared’s body had suffered.  It was warm, firm muscle lying just below the layer of fabric.  He wanted to feel the prince’s skin against his own.  
  
“Take it off,” Jared whispered.  He raised his torso from the bed with a pained grunt, and Jensen pulled the constricting cloth up and over his head.  Jared’s hair sprang out of the opening in a perfectly tousled mess, enticing Jensen’s fingers to tidy it.   
  
Jensen felt Jared’s desires keenly.  The prince wanted to lie here, exposed under the scrutiny and exploration of his lover’s eyes and hands.  And that was a longing Jensen yearned to fulfill.  He reached over and pulled apart the laces of Jared’s trousers, chuckling even, as the prince lifted his hips to aid in his disrobing.  The grimace that soon after twisted Jared’s features was not so pleasing, though.  Jensen placed an arm around the prince’s shoulders, straining to lift them higher as he stuffed a handful of pillows behind Jared, hoping the reclining position would ease the strain in his bruised muscles.  
  
He did not need to hear the relieved groan to know his actions had helped.  He felt it deep within himself and glanced up sharply to Jared’s face.  The prince smiled broadly, and a tiny trail of blood trickled from the split in his lip and onto his chin.  “It is much stronger now,” Jared sighed.  “I could feel our bond before, but only that it was there.  It is much clearer now.”  He took a deep breath like he could smell it.  
  
Jensen did the same.  No new odor invaded his senses, and he was relieved.  “M-m-my mind?”  Jensen sputtered.   He took a moment to compose his words, shaking his head to clear it of all these new, foreign sensations.  “Do you know what I am thinking?”  
  
“No, not your thoughts,” Jared said, patting his mate’s arm in reassurance.  “ But I am attuned to your feelings much more acutely than I was before, just as you now sense mine.”   He pulled Jensen toward him and caught his lips in a brief kiss.  He moaned as they touched.  
  
“I do not want you to injure yourself further,” Jensen whispered, pulling back.  He felt the arousal building deep in his gut with each touch, but stifled his own desire in the prince’s best interest.  
  
Jared chuckled, groaning and then bracing his ribs the moment the sound escaped him.  “You feel it, too.  I know you do.  Why would you deny it now that you have made your choice?”  
  
Jensen sucked in a breath.  “I do not…deny it, I mean.  I only fear causing you further injury.”  He felt another pang of arousal.  It seemed all he needed was the prince’s closeness to stimulate him.  “I…I do want you.”  
  
The prince reclined into his pillows and let his arms drop to his sides.  His eyes fell shut and a contented smile crossed his lips.  Jensen wondered if his mate had actually fallen asleep.   _His mate_ …, he thought, and the reality of the words hit him hard.  He had chosen this man as his one, the man who would be the light on his Path, and who would guide him through the Great Darkness if he were to depart before Jensen.  Or, if Jared’s beliefs were true, the man who would depart this Journey at the instant of Jensen’s own death, and share with him an eternity of journeys still to come.  Either way, Jared was his chosen mate!  
  
“You think too much,” Jared said, his eyes now open and studying Jensen.  “If you are afraid of harming me, perhaps it is best if I lie back and let you do all the work.”  
  
Jensen moaned as the heat low in his belly raged into a full-on tempest.  He was on his knees at the prince’s side, staring down upon his mate, and his arousal continued to climb.  
  
Jared hissed.  “Do not touch yourself if you are denying me the privilege.”  
  
It was only then that Jensen realized he was cradling his own erection, rubbing it through his trousers to ease his desire.  He pulled his hand away, and his hips immediately twitched in its direction.  
  
“Remove your pants,” Jared said.  And though his tone was soft, Jensen heard the command in it.  He did not resent it, though; instead he yearned to fulfill the request.   
  
“You are perfect,” Jared whispered.  “My perfect mate.”  He rubbed a hand along Jensen’s newly bared thigh, and Jensen felt the hairs rise in its wake.   
  
“Touch me,” Jensen begged.  The words stumbled out of his mouth without forethought, and he moaned when Jared’s hand moved directly to his erection.  
  
“If it is your desire not to exacerbate my injuries, perhaps you will sit astride me while I play with your body.”  
  
Jensen moaned again, but hurried to straddle the prince.  He sat gingerly upon Jared’s thighs, holding most of his weight on his own, and looked toward the prince to see what would come next.  He was breathing heavily in anticipation already.  
  
“Beautiful,” Jared whispered, his hand feathered along Jensen’s thigh, up his hip and along his torso, raising his shirt as he moved.  “Take this off, too.  Let me see all of you displayed before me.”  
  
Jensen pulled his loose tunic over his head quickly, it served to hide the color he felt rising in his cheeks.  Just a moment, he thought, just this one moment to compose himself.  
  
“Do not hide!” Jared slapped the upper swell of Jensen’s buttock softly.  “I want to see all of you now that I am yours.  I want to see your shy smiles and your flushes and your orgasms.”  
  
“Gods, Jared,” Jensen grumbled, “You have seen them already.”  
  
“I want to see them all again,” Jared insisted.  He lifted a hand to his mate’s face and brushed the golden brown hair to the side so that he could examine him closer.  Jared’s eyes glistened and his voice trembled as his fingers trailed down Jensen’s neck and to the medallion that now weighed his chain into a “v”.  “I want to see them all now that you have made the choice to share them with me.”  
  
Jensen froze.  He studied his mate for a moment, and then touched Jared’s lower lip again.  That split beckoned to him.  “Anything, Jared.  Anything you want.”  
  
“Hmm,” Jared grinned.  “I already have everything I want.”  His hand moved to Jensen’s torso and stroked gently up and down his flank, stopping to add feather-light, circular caresses here and there. His head turned toward the table at the bedside and the green vas sitting there.  “Do not make this my decision, Jensen.  Never doubt for a moment that I want you, but if this is what  _you_  want, please do not ask me to make this decision for you.”  
  
Jensen lifted up onto his knees, removing the last trace of his weight from Jared’s thighs.  He knew where the vas sat without following Jared’s glance, and he knew what Jared meant.  It would be so easy to put this in Jared’s hands, to let the prince lead, to pretend he was only…what?  Only doing what?  Submitting to his mate’s demands?  Servicing the prince?  But that did not make sense after what he had learned on his parallax yesterday, and what he had declared publicly today.  And what he felt now.  He wanted, Gods, he  _wanted!_  All he had to do was reach out for that tiny green vas, take it in hand, and declare his intent with his actions.  Who would have known its portent when he had first admired and then purchased it in the marketplace in Fersk Mettal?  
  
“Tomorrow.”  
  
“What?”  Jensen asked, startled from his musings.  
  
“Tomorrow I will make all the decisions if you like,” Jared said.  “I will tie your wrists to the bedframe, or I will spank you until you are so hard you are begging—”  
  
“Jared…” Jensen whined in protest even as his desire mounted.  
  
“But today,” Jared continued as if uninterrupted, dropping his hands to his sides and breaking off all contact, “today, it is your move to make.  Your turn to decide.”  
  
Jensen remained motionless for a few moments.  The vas was within reach, but his hands trembled with emotion and he had no desire to consecrate their bed with its contents, so he extended one slowly and deliberately as he settled his breath.  And then he drew the delicate glass to himself with the same determination.  He cradled it close to his chest to keep his hand steady as he poured some of its contents into his palm just as he had seen Jared do so many times before.  
  
“You are so beautiful,” Jared whispered.  One of his hands had moved to Jensen’s back at some point, and continued its gentle, reassuring caresses there.  “Go on, my love.”  
  
Jensen swirled his fingers in the deliciously warm oil and then held them up to let the viscous fluid drip from his fingertips onto Jared’s shaft.  He was still raised high on his knees, and he imagined by the hiss escaping Jared’s lips that the liquid had lost some of its heat in its travels.  His fingers followed it down in quick apology, tracing the paths of the rivulets and spreading the slick.  
  
“Gods!”  Jared hissed.  He clasped his hand around Jensen’s fingers.  “I am ready, more than eager even, my love, but if you want more from me than my spend in your hand, prepare yourself, not me.”  
  
“I-I cannot,” Jensen admitted as he dropped against the prince’s chest.  
  
Jared’s breath collapsed in a pained grunt, and as delighted as his heart tried to be, the breaths that he had been drawing in shallow and distressed were lost under the added weight, and now his heart hurt along with everything else vital within him.  His jaw fell open in a futile attempt to draw in more air. He blinked rapidly, watery and blurred, and tried to concentrate on his mate’s eyes.  He wanted to see them…  
  
“Jared!”  Jensen was suddenly at his side, patting his cheek and kissing his swollen lips as Jared’s eyes fluttered open and he struggled to regain focus.   
  
“Enough,” Jared whispered between wheezed breaths.  He reached up with a hand to cup his mate’s cheek.  It trembled until it met skin and then all was right.  He smiled softly when Jensen leaned into his touch, and allowed himself enough time to regain his breath.  “This is your perfect opportunity, my love.  I haven’t the strength to do more today than accept what you give.  Whatever you offer is exactly what I desire.”  He let his fingers trail down the length of Jensen’s neck, his shoulder, his chest.  “You are beautiful,” Jared repeated before letting his hand drop to his side again.  
  
The vas was heavy in his hand, and Jensen  _wanted_ … He wanted what he had never known how to want when he had lived on only one world and spoken only one language.  There was an ache deep within him, something that had been there for a while now, even before his walk with the Chief Ritualist, but it was easier to recognize and admit to now that he had completed that journey.  He summoned his strength and tipped the delicate green vas into his palm again.  His fingers twirled in the warm liquid with a different purpose this time.  He coated them, front and back, past the second knuckle, and watched Jared’s expression as he did.  
  
The prince sucked in a breath.  He stared wide-eyed and amazed at his mate, and blood rushed to his cheeks, coloring them like Jensen had never seen before.  Warmth and confidence spread through Jensen, and he was emboldened.  He straddled his mate once again, careful to maintain his own weight, and hummed softly when Jared’s thighs spread the scant inches necessary to make contact.  It felt awkward, reaching back to touch himself like this, but Jensen focused on his mate in his attempt to maintain composure.  Jared’s eyes, his chest…Gods, his cock!  Jensen looked down at the dark, swollen crown and he wanted it.  For the first time since he began consciously considering his choices, he realized that he not only wanted a life with the prince, but he also wanted this!  
  
Jensen had touched himself before, several times in fact, under Jared’s guidance, but this time felt different.  It felt like a connection and a performance all in one.  Jared remained silent; his huge hands rose to bracket Jensen’s hips, but offered nothing more than the reassurance of their touch.  
  
The oil was warm and soothing as he circled his own rim, and his finger slipped easily inside.  The breach was easy and welcome, and Jensen felt the groan escape his throat.  He pushed his finger deeper and pulled it back again.  He repeated the motion a handful of times before he felt Jared’s hand against his, gently pulling the finger away…  
  
“No!   I want—”  
  
“Shh, I know,” Jared said.   His voice was soft and reassuring.  “Put two together now.  I might not last through your show if you do not move on to the next act.”  
  
Jensen’s head rose swiftly, trying to gauge the meaning of the prince’s words, but Jared’s gaze was focused on Jensen’s fingers and where they breached his body.  It was just as easy to put two together and push them in, and the added pressure combined with the prince’s intense stare, was intoxicating.  He moved them around swiftly, intent on bathing his inner walls in the oil as rapidly as possible.  Right here, in this moment, he wanted Jared to last beyond the show.  
  
“I am ready,” he whispered as his third finger entered his hole and worked it open along with the other two.  He wanted, he really wanted.  That was now a certainty in his mind.  
  
Jared’s hand moved to his cock, pushing it up obscenely.  His other guided Jensen’s hips forward until they aligned perfectly.  “Ready?” the prince whispered close to Jensen’s ear.  “Are you ready for me?  Ready to take this next step on our journey?”  
  
Jared’s hips kept rising and lowering, his cock making brief contact with Jensen’s taint and distracting Jensen as he tried to think logically.  As he tried to consider and answer the prince’s questions.   
  
Jensen summoned his strength and pronounced, “I am ready for you.”  
  
Jared grinned, pulling Jensen’s fingers away.  “I believe you,” he whispered.  He pushed his cock forward again, nudging up against Jensen’s hole, but doing nothing more than that.  “I am equally ready for you, but go slow.  I might not last long enough to give you pleasure otherwise.”  
  
He pushed against Jensen’s hole again, not attempting entrance, simply teasing them both with the contact  “Gods, I want you!” Jared swore.  
  
“I am here,” Jensen replied.  He held Jared’s erection steady in one hand as he lowered himself onto it.  He groaned at the steady pressure against his entrance, but did not hesitate.   Even that he anticipated.  He reminded himself and the prince with his words, “I want.  I want this.”  
  
“Mmm,” Jared agreed.  He held his hips as still as possible.  “I want whatever you give me.  Take what you want.”  
  
Thus encouraged, Jensen sank lower, feeling the first semblance of penetration, and the burn that accompanied it.  Ignoring the discomfort, he pushed himself lower.  
  
“Gods!” Jared hissed.  He drew in several deep, concentrated breaths, and the pain throbbing in his bruised ribs grounded him.  “Slowly, my love, or this will be far too painful for you, and over far too quickly for me.”  He moved his hands back to Jensen’s hips, and guided him ever so slightly.  He did not want to take away his lover’s initiative; he simply wanted to offer encouragement and direction.  He raised and lowered his lover in tiny increments, hoping the movement and the slow, steady penetration would feel good.  
  
Jensen’s hips began matching the rhythm Jared set, moving up and down, circling, until slowly, oh so slowly, Jared was seated completely within him.  Jensen ground down, feeling the fullness, and groaned as he dropped forward, both hands splayed across the prince’s chest.  
  
Jared hissed with the impact, but before Jensen could pull away, Jared wrapped his long, muscled arms around him and thrust the tiniest bit upward.  
  
“Unh,” Jensen grunted.  He pushed his hips down to feel more.  It felt good, full and still on the edge of burn, but good.  After a few short experimental thrusts, the burn subsiding, he moved his hands to either side of the prince’s chest and thrust down more seriously.  The penetration felt good, but he wanted more.  
  
Jared’s hand pushed at the small of his back.  “Lean forward, kiss me,” he whispered.  And Jensen obliged.  The prince maintained his hold on Jensen’s back, pushing him down as he leaned forward, and the first spark ignited.  
  
“Gods!”  Jensen swore.  He pushed himself more fervently down onto Jared, hoping to repeat the magical sensation.  
  
“Kiss me,” the prince repeated.  His voice lower now, more a demanding growl than a request, and Jensen surged down to meet his lips.  The prince’s hand kept him in place and the rocking of their hips sent shockwaves through Jensen.  This is it, he thought, this is what it should be.  And he thrust harder, faster, devouring the prince’s lips as he did.  
  
Jared pulled his head away for a moment.  “Gods! I am going to come, Jensen!  Slow down!”  
  
Jensen rose up, threw his head back and groaned.  His hips never stopped moving as his hand reached blindly for his cock, bobbing and leaking anxiously.  
  
“Me,” Jared whispered, batting Jensen’s hand away.  “Let it be me.”  He kept one hand centered firmly at the base of Jensen’s back, and concentrated what energy he had left on stroking Jensen to orgasm.  “Come on, my love, come,” he encouraged.  “I…Gods!”  He bit his tongue to distract himself.  “I am almost done.”  
  
Jensen leaned down again, the angle was perfect to send those sparks, and with the prince working his cock, he maddeningly worked himself between the two intense stimuli.  He was so close…so close.  “Gods!” He screamed as he came, collapsing unto Jared’s chest and grabbing the prince’s lower lip in his teeth.  His hips continued to rut of their own volition, his channel squeezing around Jared’s girth and adding to that full sensation, doubling the intensity of his orgasm.  His eyes closed in bliss, or perhaps he passed out for a moment.

***

  
  
Jensen rose on an elbow even as he opened his eyes.  They were dry and scratchy, and he was uncertain as to what had stirred him to wakefulness.  He glanced down at the prince,  _his mate,_  and studied Jared in repose.  
  
Jared’s lower lip was even more swollen now than it had been when Jensen had first seen it in the aftermath of the fight.  He bit his own, worried that he was the cause of it.  Jared’s breaths were smooth and regular, but the purpling, mottled blotches along his left chest and flank worried Jensen.  Jensen remembered biting and licking at that lip, and falling against the prince’s chest as pleasure overtook him.  He wanted to bathe in the luxury of newfound love, but if he had caused his lover further injury…  
  
A soft knock at the door drew Jensen’s attention from his dozing mate, perhaps that was what had drawn him from slumber.  It was an unusual sound here; Jensen paused to consider its meaning, and then rose to head for the door.  He wanted Jared to continue sleeping and healing, and if the sound continued, it was certain to rouse the Heir.   
  
Jensen scanned the panel, and the door slid open.  He looked along the length of the corridor in both directions.  No one was there.  Then he looked down to discover a large tray covered in splendid delicacies and even a bottle of that golden liquid Jensen remembered enjoying back on the Royal Vessel when his  _Pelunga_  bushes breached the soil for the first time.   
  
Apparently they were not expected elsewhere today.  With one more glance in both directions, Jensen grabbed the tray and carried it into their quarters.  The soft  _swish_ of the door closing behind him put a small smile on his face.


End file.
